DriedUp Roses
by N.S.L. Jewelles
Summary: A widowed Christine de Chagny flees to Persia to escape a fate set out for her and is drawn into the world of prostitution and erotic pleasures. This is where her angel finds her...but can he bring her back to innocence and teach her to love truly again?
1. Prologue The Confession

_**Prologue – The Confession**_

"I never meant to do my husband wrong. I never meant to destroy the passion in our marriage with my naivety or childish romanticism. But I did. I swear, if God gave me a chance to try our marriage again I would, but even the Lord Almighty cannot bring back what we ourselves have done with knowledge of our sins."

"Were you unfaithful to his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny, your husband?"

"I was in all physical ways faithful, I can be completely honest. But, my Father, I was not in all other ways a dutiful and true wife. I have sinned, Father, that I have thought of another man in my private thoughts. Sometimes I even wished this man's body to be my husband's."

"Did his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny and yourself hold a celibate marriage, my Lady?"

"I do not disclose…"

"I asked you a question, my Lady. It would be your duty as a religious woman to answer me."

"Our bedroom was merely a place for sleep, Holy Father. We did naught but that, I can say truthfully."

"As we say only truths in this conference, my Lady, may I inquire as to the identity of the man you seek?"

"I cannot, Holy Father. I have not the right to give such information."

"My Lady, I see no reason as to why you would hide such a thing from me. After all, you yourself named it sin, and sin is quite the serious matter in my eyes and in our Lord God's."

"I may say no more than that he is an Angel."

"You love the immaterial, my Lady?"

"Oh he is quite the contrary, my Father. He is fully and wholly a man, though the world sees him as an insignificant gargoyle. I pray nightly that he will return to me."

"Even when your husband was near, my Lady?"

"Yes, Holy Father, yes. I do not deny that I truly love my husband, with every bit of my heart, though my soul and my body yearns for another. I am becoming a lifeless being without the presence of an Angel to guide me."

"Have you had contact with this Angel of yours, my Lady Vicomtesse, in the years of your marriage to his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny?"

"None at all. Last I saw him, Holy Father, he was in despair over the mere presence of his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny, my loving husband."

"I see. Is that all, my Lady?"

"Holy Father, may I ask that you pray for my Angel this evening before you retire? He is, and has always been, in desperate need of one to pray for him."

"Why of course, my Lady Vicomtesse, though I must ask you to complete a simple task for me."

"What is the nature of such a task, Holy Father?"

"The Lord Almighty would will it that you not think of your Angel any longer, my Lady, after tonight when I pray for his well-being. It will only bring you suffering and bad health. That is all I ask, my Lady, all I ask, and I will pray nightly for yourself as well. You are looking rather pale."

"My thanks to you, Holy Father."

"You may depart, my Lady Vicomtesse. I expect to see you at Mass on Sunday."

"Lord God willing, my Father. Lord God willing."


	2. Most Noble Matter

_**Chapter One – Deliberations and Propositions on a Most Noble Matter**_

_Paris 1874_

"My Lady? My Lady!" The Baron van Oldenburg calls me from my daydreams. "My Lady Vicomtesse, this is a pressing matter! I highly suggest you pay the utmost attention." I nod politely to the Baron as his wife, Adrianne, pats my hand under the table.

"Lady Christine, I understand you're caught up with the ailments of your dear husband, Lord Raoul, but please pay attention. It involves the marriage of the Marquis of Luxembourg." I remain silent. Marquis Charlemagne Luxembourg is one of my least-favorite people of those I've met in the nearly four years since Raoul and I wed. He is young; my age; and the discussion of his potential bride simply bores me.

"We have," states the Marquis's widowed mother Samantha, "an offer from a lovely family native to Paris. There is no father, but there is quite the inheritance. The daughter, from what I understand, is a well-trained ballerina and has a decent voice."

"The name, Madame? We must know the name!" The Baroness exclaims.

"The Lady Marguerite Elisabeth Giry." I sit there stunned. Meg! My Meg may wed the Marquis of Luxembourg. I could die, and I very well may.

"Marguerite Giry!" I shout, though it is very unladylike of me and very unbecoming for a Vicomtesse or any noblewoman. "He simply cannot marry Marguerite Giry!" I remind myself not to call her Meg in the presence of these noble folk who look to wed into fine families with fine names. "She is not of the caliber!" I add, and I silently pray for Meg's forgiveness for nearly destroying her noble reputation in such company.

"Why, Lady Christine, do you say such things? Pray tell!" Lady Samantha inquires. "Her mother is quite the divine lady, is she not?"

Stumbling across my words, I reply, "Antoinette Giry is most certainly a 'divine lady,' Madame Luxembourg, but is her daughter of a high enough stature to marry your son? She has neither noble title nor any prior relations to anybody with a position."

"Lady Christine," states the Baroness, "I heard from outside sources that you were nearly familial with Marguerite during your days as a ballerina at the Opera Populaire." I have never brought up my childhood at the opera during noble conversations. Now, however, it's inevitable that I will speak of it.

"I was, I daresay, 'familial' with the Ladies Giry, though I do not speak of them in high terms when it comes to the social order. They are high class, of course, do not hear me wrongly, but they are not of the stature to marry a Marquis, least of all your son." I curse myself for causing such destruction to Meg's social appearance, but it must be done. The Marquis of Luxembourg does not deserve her goodness, for he is as spoiled as a fat baby and stubborn as an ass.

"Well, if the Lady Vicomtesse says it, it must be so!" The Baron plainly states. "After all, she is the most worldly of us all, I suppose, when it comes to ladies of Society." I cannot say I disagree with this; I am most certainly one for entertaining and attending parties, though not always with Raoul, God protect him.

"Lord Baron," Lady Samantha starts, "if Lady Christine is so 'worldly' about ladies, why not let her choose a bride for my Charlemagne! I would like nothing more than to have such a lovely lady find an equally wonderful woman to wed my son."

"Lady Samantha," says the Baroness, "I despise talk of our ailing friends in what should be a joyous conversation, but it may not be in le Vicomtesse's best interests right now to choose a bride for your son. In fact, it would be taxing." I cast a glance to Lady Adrianne in quiet thanks.

"My wife, you are absolutely correct," the Baron replies. "We are all preoccupied now with le Vicomte's failing health. Maybe it would be wise to discuss Lady Christine's future as well. After all, it is mere days…"

"Baron Timothy von Oldenburg, I am ashamed of you!" Lady Samantha shouts at him with disgust. "Saying such things about an ailing friend! How dare you say such horrific prophecies in front of Lord Raoul's wife! Wash your mouth out with soap and go to the confessional, damn you!"

"Mother," the young Marquis says calmingly, "he is correct. We would not want Lady Christine to be on her own when the time does come." The Marquis's statement offers me reassurance, and though I do not care for him as a person or a husband for Meg, I have new respect for him. That is not to say that I like him, for I do not in the slightest.

"Why, Lady Samantha, I have a most glorious idea!" The Baroness shouts excitedly. "I do not wish to clothe our discussion in sadness, but when the time comes for Lord Raoul to pass on to God, Lady Christine may marry your son!" I come close to fainting, but manage to stand up instead.

"I most certainly will not…" but the Lady Samantha cuts me off.

"Good Heavens, Adrianne, why did I not see it before! They are of perfect age for one another, young enough for a long, healthy marriage, assuming Lord Raoul does not recuperate, which I'm sure we may assume." I am tempted to drop to the floor in a cold faint, but I abstain, knowing that it would be highly frowned upon, though not at all unusual due to the presence of corsets on the ladies of Society.

"Then it's settled!" says the Baron von Oldenburg joyously. "We shall set the date straight away for three months hence the passing of his Lordship le Vicomte de Chagny. That shall allow for mourning and wedding preparations. Are all parties agreed?" Knowing I cannot possibly get myself out of this as a woman without a father to fight for her rights, I nod my head sadly.

As I do every day, I pray for Raoul to return to full health, though now it is to protect me from becoming the Marchioness of Luxembourg. I do not deny that such a title is great, though lower than my current name, but the company of Marquis Charlemagne Luxembourg as a husband is dreadful. I'd choose life in a cave before I'd choose that, but sometimes there is just no choice.

**Later…**

"What do you mean, you're to marry the Marquis?" Lydia de Chagny, my sister-in-law, exclaims a little too loudly.

"Hush, Lydia, you loud thing! Do you want your brother to hear you?" I snap back, angry with her for speaking about the new arrangements while my husband is in the next room.

"Oh, Christine, really. He's so long out of it that he'll never understand even if he can hear me! Christine, don't cry! Please don't cry!" She immediately turns around and takes me in her arms, holding me tightly. "You poor thing, this isn't what you planned at all, is it?"

"No," I admit with a sniff. "I thought I'd just go on to be a wealthy widow after Raoul passes away, but now everything's gone to the dogs!"

Lydia rubs my back comfortingly. "What about that friend of yours, Marguerite, was it?" I nod a little.

"Meg couldn't do anything! And what former Vicomtesse goes on to nothing? There's always something else, especially at my age. And it's truly difficult to find a husband for someone more than five years past coming to childbearing age. That's six wasted years for me!" I bury my face in my hands and start to cry uncontrollably, not only for Raoul but for myself.

"Well there's no use in sitting around moping. We're doing enough of that as it is with my brother's being ill." I stand up, straightening out my skirts with my hands.

"I suppose you're right, Lydia. I may as well mope where moping is needed," and I am off to Raoul and my bedchamber.

As I enter the room, one of the physicians, Doctor Rosier, stands and announces me, "Lady Christine! You are back so early?"

"Certainly, Doctor, my presence was far more needed here," I reply politely, trying very hard to ignore the fact that I'm already engaged before my husband even passes. The mere thought of it makes me sick to my stomach, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

I walk over to Raoul's bedside and sit upon the marriage bed, simply looking adoringly at him like an infatuated schoolgirl. "Lady Christine, would you will it that we leave you in private for a short while? There is no sense in trying very hard much longer, I'm afraid, and for that reason our presence is unnecessary."

"You may take your leave, Doctor, thank you. I shall call for you when I am in no further need of privacy." I nod to them and Doctor Rosier bows as the physicians and attendants depart from my bedchamber. I bite my lip, very unladylike of me, and reach out my hand to stroke Raoul's sweat-licked bronze locks. "Oh, Raoul, come back to me," I say gently.

Aware that I'll know myself as a hypocrite, I state plainly, "Raoul, come back. I need you, Raoul. They want to marry me off to the Marquis of Luxembourg three months hence the day you pass. Please, Raoul, help me." When he does not open his eyes, I lay my hand across his heart; there is still a beating, though faint and irregular.

"_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons, so do we, but please promise me that sometimes you will think…_" I start singing softly, all the while stroking Raoul's hair.

"Lotte?" His gorgeous blue eyes, though heavy-lidded, flutter open.

"Oh, Raoul!" I exclaim, overjoyed to see him awake at last.

"You were singing to me, weren't you Lotte?" Raoul reaches out his hand to me and I take it, feeling its clamminess. "You were singing that song from _Hannibal_, the one you sang all those years ago at the Opera Populaire." His ability to speak in such long intervals is giving me slight hope, but I know it's false. I merely nod, and Raoul reaches a second cold, sweaty hand to me, touching the side of my face. "I love you, Lotte."

"Don't leave me, Raoul, please. I couldn't bear to lose you!" I start crying, my tears dripping down onto Raoul's hand.

"Christine, you and I both know that Samuel and Lydia will make a wonderful Vicomte and Vicomtesse." I cannot argue with him.

"Just because we know does not mean that we have to like it, Raoul." He closes his eyes a little and I squeeze on his hand, hoping it'll make him open his eyes.

"Christine, would you fetch Lydia for me? I wish to tell her farewell and give her my blessing." I lean my head over Raoul's chest.

"No, Raoul! You're giving up! Don't give up!"

"What's this shouting, Christine?" Lydia appears in the doorway of our bedchamber, her arms crossed. "Oh, my baby brother!" Lydia runs to our marriage bed and sits on it beside me, taking her younger brother's hand from my face and holding it tightly.

"Lydia," Raoul starts, coughing, "I offer you my blessing as the next Vicomtesse. Hold your position in good health, my Lydia, and tell Samuel the same."

"Raoul Harrison de Chagny, you stop saying things like this right now! What would Mother say?" Lydia is doing all that she can, I can plainly see, to not scream at Raoul, but it's proving rather useless.

"That she misses me," Raoul replies, his voice hoarse. "She would say that she's ready to see me again."

"Stop it," I murmur softly, hating how he talks as if he's going home by going to God. "Please, Raoul, stop saying such wicked things."

"Christine," he whispers, using my hand to pull me forward so I am nearly on top of him. "Little Lotte," he calls me, pulling me to him and kissing me on the lips, "I love you." With that, Raoul le Vicomte de Chagny is no more.


	3. Farewell to a Friend and Mysterious Men

_**Chapter Two – Farewell to a Friend and Mysterious Men**_

_Paris 1874_

**Christine**

I stare out of the window of the black mourning carriage through my sheer black veil. The day is drenched in blissfully cooling rain, but it allows me no pleasure. Lydia and Samuel, along with their daughter Amanda, sit across from me, their faces expressionless but for Lydia, her cheeks coated in a translucent mask of salty tears.

My hands are folded in my lap, my fingers playing with each other, when I feel a little appendage take my own fragile and cold one. Little Amanda, not even five, has grasped my hand from across the carriage. "Auntie Christine?"

"Yes, Amanda?" I respond kindly, taking the time to smile at my niece.

"Why is Mommy crying so much?" I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the chill air in my nostrils.

"Mommy's crying, _bien-aimé_, because she has lost something very dear to her." I cannot bear to tell Amanda the truth of her uncle's demise. She barely knew the man and I'd loathe myself for telling a child something I am not prepared to tell her. "She's lost something that she's known for nearly her whole life. Give her time to get used to life without it. She will be crying a lot."

"Don't be an ignoramus, Christine de Chagny," Lydia snaps rudely. "Tell the child the truth or say nothing at all. I will not have my daughter told lies." I fall into silence, a silence so deafening it could destroy the ears of God. To pass the time, I fiddle with my veil and my nearly-gothic black mourning dress. On my finger is the ring Raoul gave me to signify our engagement, a stunning Swarovski creation, though nothing like its predecessor...

_Stop it, Christine. Don't think about that. You swore that you would not think of those times._ I clear my mind of anything to do with my life before being le Vicomtesse de Chagny as we pull up to the cemetery. Vivid memories of my last visit here bring long-postponed tears to my eyes, and I take Amanda's hand for comfort. With her big blue eyes she looks up at me, wondering why her aunt would squeeze her hand ever so tightly, but I pretend I can't see her expression.

Amanda, Lydia, Samuel and I walk down the gravel path to the cemetery, our eyes on the ground. About ten feet from the gate, we are passed by a tall man in a long cape. I cast my gaze upwards and see that he is wearing a black fedora that's brim is lowered down over the side of his face. I think nothing of it, but Amanda nudges me in the side and whispers, "He looks like the Devil in disguise."

"Don't you ever go near mysterious men, Amanda," her mother says coolly, looking at me with confused eyes. I give her a serious gaze, reminding her not to even think about my experiences with mysterious men. _Stop it! You're not supposed to be thinking about that!_ I look down at little Amanda, her blonde curls blowing about in the breeze as she walks, thinking about how much she reminds me of Meg. I curse myself knowing that I ruined Meg's chances of marrying a Marquis, and in turn earned his companionship for myself. I ever I needed Raoul, it would be now.

**Erik**

Le Vicomte de Chagny is dead. Le Vicomte de Chagny is dead from natural causes, nonetheless. I breathe freely knowing that he is no longer around keeping Christine from me. Then again, why would she return to a monster, even after her snobbish husband is dead? I never held anything against Raoul personally, save for his having Christine as a wife. Maybe I owe it to him to visit his grave, seeing as I let him live voluntarily when I could've killed him just as easily.

I leave my organ bench, where I have been reading the daily paper that Antoinette brings me, and proceed into my chambers. Finding the closet, I pull out a nice suit, fully black, of course, and put it on. I walk to the washroom and clean myself up, though I cannot see how well I've done at it in the absence of mirrors. I go over to my bureau and remove my white mask, placing it on the polished wood. I adjust my hairpiece, making it look as natural as possible, and slip a black mask on, knowing from practice that it is in place.

My footsteps echo harmoniously around the cavern as I walk out onto the shore to fetch my cape and fedora from their proper places on my coat rack. I throw my cape about my shoulders and position the fedora so it all but covers my face, leaving no room for people to tell that I am in fact masked. I pull aside one of the sliding doors in my wall and hurry out into Paris.

The day is rather dreary, clouds casting ominous shadows on the roads and buildings. Nobody takes the time to pay attention to me, the ridiculous-looking black-clad stranger in their city. I, however, see them as the intruders upon me. Their thundering carriages can sometimes be heard from my lair, making it hard to sleep or even to think.

I am generally familiar with the cemetery in which le Vicomte is being buried, seeing as I have visited before. Unfortunately, my most recent visit was nearly four years prior to this date, and it is a day I do not wish to remember.

The guests have not yet arrived for the burial, but I see the ornate casket of one who could only be nobility resting beside a freshly-dug gravesite. I inch closer and stand mere feet from it. Yes, the name emblazoned upon it is recognizable; le Vicomte Raoul Harrison de Chagny. I can only imagine my poor little Christine weeping over his death. It serves her right for marrying him. _Don't you curse Christine, Erik. It's not her fault you're a monster rather than a wealthy vicomte._

Tipping my hat to the casket, I speak softly, "Best wishes to you," then add, if only for Christine's sake, "my friend." Guests have started to file in towards the grave, so I take my leave, turning around and walking briskly out of the cemetery, the bitter wind prodding my face with its icy fingers.

As I round the corner past the gates, I see a group of mourners coming slowly towards me. There is a couple on the younger side of middle aged. The woman looks to be a de Chagny from her hair and her stature, though her husband is much burlier. There is a little girl as well, her blonde curls dancing in the air as she walks, who I assume to be their daughter. But she does not hold her mother's, even her father's hand.

Beside the little girl is a woman, clearly of less age than the de Chagny one, dressed in a long, completely obscuring black dress that looks more like a sack, but it shows enough for me to know that she is indeed very slender, almost to the point of breakable. Her hair is covered in a black hat and veil, but I can see a few loose, curly brown tendrils that have loosed themselves, hanging limply by the side of her face. Her face is somber, expressionless.

The little girl stares blankly at me and I pretend to ignore her. She appears to speak to her mother, and in turn the mother responds, but looks at the other woman with scrutiny and confusion. The woman turns to look at me as we pass, and I catch a glimpse of her face, though she cannot see me beneath the shadow of my fedora's brim. Large, sad brown eyes peer out at me and I nearly collapse on the spot; Christine.

I whirl around, raising my hand as if I will call her, but she is gone. Slowly, I lower my hand and sigh mournfully. _Serves you right, Erik. Serves you right for ignoring her all these years, not bothering to look for her._

Struck with a sudden idea, and knowing that I've attracted attention, I walk out of the cemetery and around a corner, looking at many of the headstones from the back. Sneakily, almost catlike, I slip around the edge of the cemetery and walk down some of the back pathways until I've reached a familiar one. I walk down its length and find myself at a large tomb engraved with the name "Daaè." With great swiftness, I hide behind the tomb, just waiting. Somewhere deep inside myself, I know that she will come.

My thoughts prove true after quite a long while. Down the path walks le Vicomtesse de Chagny, her footsteps gentle and slow. She has removed her hat and veil, allowing her hair to flow down her shoulders in a chocolate mass of curls. Though just as beautiful as I remember, she looks like she has gained many more years than the few she has. Her eyes have deep circles around them, her face paler than a corpse's. My beautiful little angel, reduced to a sobbing, ghostly skeleton.

Christine walks to the tomb, mere feet from where I hide, and kneels upon the stone steps. I look to see if she is praying, but she is merely sitting and crying. I cannot stop myself. I hear my own voice echo softly, "_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance!_" Christine jerks to attention, casting her wide-eyed gaze around the clearing, seeing nothing but chill air and fog.

My heart leaps as I hear her voice, "_Angel of Music, you must leave now! I have sworn not to see you!_" Tears force themselves away from the barrier of my eyelids, trailing down my cheeks from under the mask and pooling in little droplets at my chin.

"Oh, Christine, what's happened to you?" I ask myself quietly. Her voice is broken, it need of some tender care and guidance, but even in its spoiled state it could make the Devil Himself weep. Le Vicomtesse stands and positions her hat atop her unruly curls yet again, taking her leave from the sight. "I swear, Christine, I'll save you from this. One day I'll find you. _You alone can make my song take flight! I'll bring to you the Music of the Night!_"


	4. Heart's Empty Chambers

_**Chapter Three – In the Heart's Empty Chambers**_

**Christine**

_From the desk of Le Vicomtesse de Chagny_

My dearest Raoul,

There are some things better left unsaid in a marriage, and now it is too late to inform you of any of them. I can only hope that you receive this letter from a better place.

I do not deny that I love you with all of my heart, mind, body, and soul. I have loved you since the moment I met you all of those years ago. Little Lotte, you called me, Little Lotte your love. You were my love too, the more mature and capable one of the two of us, the one who'd protect me when we were told off for running amuck.

When we were reunited four years ago, I felt like the whole world was at peace, that I'd finally found someone who would change my life for the better. But you were condemned by my love for music. You were condemned to never have peace in our love.

Oh, Raoul, I love you more than anything on God's earth! But I always felt that there was something missing, something even you could not rectify. Remember that day when I said I was going to spend time with Amanda and Lydia? I never went. I went to Confessional, Raoul, because my mind was filling itself with thoughts of someone other than you, someone you would hate to know was in your wife's mind. I thought of him, Raoul. I thought of the man who made our lives a hell.

I swore to Father Daniel that I would not think of him any longer, that I would rid my thoughts of him permanently. It is the first time I've written anything to do with him in nearly two years, and after I deliver this I suppose I must return to the Confessional, rid myself of this sin I've written to you Raoul, do not think that I love him, for I do not. I love you. I always have. But I am tormented by him, and sometimes during the night I thought that maybe I wanted him there with me, but I woke up and it was you. I was grateful it wasn't a man with blood on his hands, a man who couldn't offer me a good life. It was you, and I was just overjoyed at that notion.

Raoul, please forgive me for thinking of him even though I love you so. I do, Raoul, I love you. But there are some things I knew he could offer me that you could not, if not love. I never felt that my music was supported by you or anyone in your family. When I sang to you before you passed away, it was the first melody to cross my lips since that fateful night in the catacombs. As well, there was no passion in our marriage. We love each other, Raoul, this I know, but where was the fire? Where was the lust? There was none.

I miss you with all of my heart, Raoul, and if I could do these past years over I would. I swear on all that is good that I would retry it. But I cannot. Therefore, my only hope is that you can find it in yourself to forgive these most unnecessary sins on my part. I love you.

Eternally yours,

_Little Lotte_

**Erik**

_My darling Christine,_

_Why must you hide from me? Are you afraid that you will disgust your husband in heaven if he knew you were thinking of me? Don't fear that, _mon ange_, don't fear that. Christine, you and I both know that your vicomte was overprotective of you. He's dead now. Let it go! I wish there was more I could say to you now, but I suppose you'll never receive this anyway._

_-E. O.G._

God damn it! She doesn't even know my name! I'll always be to her the Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera, the Opera Ghost. Never will my beautiful angel call me by my name.

In anguish I throw the letter, the ink still drying, to the floor, along with many sheets of music I've been working on. I bury my face in my hands, and I sense blood on my right one from rough contact with the edge of my mask. _Damn thing._ Every day I wish I was not born this way. Every day I wish things were different, that I am not the murder I am today. But that can never be. I am the infamous Opera Ghost. I have a reputation to maintain.

"Why did you leave me here?" I shout angrily into the lair. "Why?" He's dead now, that meddlesome vicomte. Why is Christine still hiding like she's ashamed? _You fool. You should never have gone to Raoul's grave if you still hold things against him. His soul doesn't need your hypocrisy._ For the first time in years, nearly four years, to be exact, I find myself crying.

Gently, I pry the mask from my face, the white of it stained red with the blood of my hand, wet with my tears. Out of my desk, I draw a small mirror, the only one left in my lair. It is cracked, of course, in many places, but that does not bother me. I am as broken as it is. Slowly I raise it to my face, looking into it.

Good Lord, what have I become? My eyes, both of them, not just the normal one, have deep bags under them, much like Christine's. The once-intriguing green orbs have turned dull, making me look ever-more the ghost. And my disfigurement…God, no wonder she left me. What woman could ever really feel for this face? Maybe pity, but not love.

I touch my lips, remembering how she'd kissed me. Her tiny little lips left a burning mark on mine, and it still hurts me. That kiss wasn't love. That kiss was sheer and utter pity and pleading. It was nothing that I should value. But it was Christine, the last memory I have of her. The shattered soul she is now isn't my beautiful little angel, my Prima Donna. She's just like every other widow, afraid of dishonoring their dead husbands.

Not bothering to wipe the blood from my face and discarded mask, I pick the letter and music up from the floor. The ink on the letter is smudgy, but it doesn't matter, not in the slightest. I take it in my hands and, not bothering to seal it, walk over to the chest by my large bed. Drawing the key from under the mattress, I open it and look inside.

Nearly four years worth of letters lie in a pile in the chest, all unsealed but for a few, but all with the same name on them: Christine. I'll never show them to her, though I'd hoped I would for split seconds when I found out her vicomte had passed on. To think that I'd hoped she'd take me back! There is no fool like an old fool, I suppose. I press my lips gently to the piece of parchment in my hands before tossing it on the pile with the rest of them. That's all I am to her, another thing in her past, just another piece of parchment on the pile.


	5. The Fate of la Vicomtesse

_**Chapter Four – The Fate of le Vicomtesse**_

_Paris 1874_

**Christine**

Meg is sitting idly by the window when I walk into the room. It has been nearly two months since Raoul's death and the Giry's have finally returned from their long holiday in Spain. "Meg?"

"Christine!" she exclaims, jumping up from her seat in excitement. Meg runs over to me and hugs me fiercely, crushing some air out of my lungs. "Oh, Christine, I nearly dropped in a dead faint when I heard about Raoul! How are you faring?"

"I'm taking it one day at a time, I suppose," I reply, kissing Meg's cheek. "Meg?" I ask, knowing that no time will be a good time.

"Yes, Christine?"

"Do you know the Marquis of Luxembourg?" Meg's pale blue eyes go wide.

"You mean that handsome devil whose mother called on us in Spain?" I nod, worried that Lady Samantha will have told Madame and Meg all about our marriage plans. "I know him, of course! Why do you ask?" I swallow hard and tuck a loose bit of curly hair behind my ear.

"Well, see, um…" I stumble across my words, wondering how to say this to her, my best friend.

"Spit it out!" Meg reprimands me, a little smile on her face.

"Before Raoul died, I was with the Baron and Baroness von Oldenburg as well as the Marquis and his mother and we were discussing his marriage."

"And?" Meg looks at me inquisitively. "Go on."

"Lady Samantha, that's his mother, said that she'd spoken with your mother about possibly marrying him off to you, but then the Baroness said that you weren't good enough because you had no noble title." I feel terrible lying to Meg like I am, but some things just must be done. Meg motions to me, encouraging me on. "So then the Baron said that maybe, since I'm young and Raoul was deathly ill, I should marry him, and now it's set in stone! I'm marrying him in just over a month."

Meg sits there before me in complete and utter shock. "That's wicked, that is! The nerve of them to do that to you, mere months after your husband's death! Mama's going to have something to say about this, you can be sure. Maybe Gaston can step in and act the father." Madame Giry remarried within a year after the events at the Opera Populaire to a man named Gaston van Ellsworth, and he has grown very close to Meg and me in the last few years.

"It'd do us no good now getting your mother and Gaston involved," I reply sadly. "I suppose I'd have ended up in a situation like this anyway if I didn't have Raoul, may God protect his soul."

"So you don't love him then?" Meg asks me, her face scrunched up in confusion. I shake my head. "God, I hate Adrianne von Oldenburg! First she nearly destroyed my mother's wedding," she says, and I remember well the Baroness's angry display of disapproval with the food at Madame Giry's wedding reception, "and now she's insulted our family as well, not to mention gotten you into a most unneeded predicament involving the Marquis." Meg sighs. "You can't just ask Lydia to request that you remain with her family as an aunt nurse to Amanda? I mean, it's logical. The little girl loves you so!"

"They've already sent out invitations to the wedding anyway. Do you think that Gaston would give me away?" I suppose that there's no point in fighting it any longer.

"I suppose, but there's got to be a way around this! You shouldn't have to marry the Marquis if you don't want to."

Struck with a sudden but wicked idea, I question Meg, "Would you want to marry him? If you were me, of course?" Meg looks at me skeptically for a minute, and then responds.

"I guess I would. I mean, he's a Marquis and he's amazingly good-looking. Not as good as Raoul or Samuel, of course, but most definitely a sight for sore eyes. And he's only ever been kind, from what I know. You may have reasons for not liking him, but I have no reserves as such." Eyeing my devilish grin, Meg asks, "Christine, what're you thinking? You have that look in your eye…"

"You may well get to marry your Marquis, Marguerite Giry." I smirk at her.

"Okay, I know something's wrong when you start calling me Marguerite. That's what my mother calls me!" Meg pauses and then seems to come around to what I'm hinting at. "Oh, Christine. You wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't," I start, "but you would." Out of the bag I brought with me, I take a pile of papers Lady Samantha gave me regarding family history, relatives, and places I'd need to know as the new Marchioness of Luxembourg.

"I couldn't possibly! Christine, you wicked thing! You expect me to…" I stand up and start playing with her loose locks of blonde hair. "What're you doing?"

As I pile it atop her head and hold it in place, I say, "You know, you could pass for me with your hair covered."

"Pass for you? Christine, this isn't some stupid dance rehearsal where we listen to La Carlotta for hours! This is _marriage_, Christine, a noble marriage! Lady Samantha would see through it in a minute! And you know that the Baroness von Oldenburg would!"

"But if Gaston and your mother give me away, what's to stop them from switching brides at the last minute?" Meg looks unconvinced. "And besides, I'm sure that the Marquis would prefer you anyway. You're not already widowed and he doesn't have to worry about you comparing him to a handsome vicomte."

"True enough," Meg replies, "but I'm not doing it!"

I know it's time to drop the card that all Giry women hate. "What, you'd rather end up a spinster like your mother was? She was damn lucky she found a man who'd even look at her!"

"Enough!" she shouts back. "I'll do it. Are you happy now?" My smile spreads across my face. It never ceases to amaze me how the same words can have such an effect on a family no matter how many times they're used.

**Erik**

"Erik? Erik, I'd like to speak with you, if you don't mind." Antoinette's voice comes from the dock by the shore of my lair.

"Yes, Antoinette? What news have we today from the sane world?" I reply sardonically.

"Get over yourself," the former dance instructor replies sharply, reprimanding me like a child, which I am not. "It's about Christine." My eyes widen, but I bow my head so she can't see. "Don't hide it, Erik. I know you're interested."

"All right, then, tell me," I answer dryly, throwing a dressing gown over my shoulders and walking out to greet Antoinette, who looks away a little. "It's okay, I'm decent. And I do believe I see the infamous Madame Giry blushing," I say sarcastically, poking fun at her.

"Let's stop arguing, shall we?" I nod. "This arrived this morning," she says, handing an official-looking paper, gold seal broken, to me. "It's an invitation to the wedding of the Marquis of Luxembourg."

"What's this got to do with…" but then I see it. In the center of the paper, where the bride's name would go, is written in flowing script, _The Lady Christine Emmanuelle Daaè_. "No. No!"

"You're not still set on her, are you?" Antoinette asks inquisitively. "Because she's spoken with me about it on many occasions whenever I try to bring you up. She won't talk about you."

"I'm not set on her, Antoinette!" I lie. "She's a naïve little girl who is looking for someone who can protect her from the world. That's why she married de Chagny in the first place."

"That is not true, Erik, and you know it!" Antoinette snaps back.

"Antoinette, I do not need you telling me what I know and don't! I'm a grown man, damn it!" I scream back, angrier than ever with her.

"And Christine is an adult too! Sometimes I think that you still consider her the defenseless little girl you tutored in the chapel." That strikes a nerve within me, and Antoinette clearly knows it.

"How?" I stutter. "How did they get this accomplished? Her husband died mere months ago?" Antoinette shakes her head.

"Lady Samantha Luxembourg is a true demon when it comes to these things. Apparently her son, the Marquis, was supposed to be wed to Marguerite but she was talked out of it by the Baroness von Oldenburg." I chuckle.

"I always knew the Baron made a mistake marrying her. You told me about, do you remember?" Antoinette nods. "One of the worst weddings you ever attended, if I am not mistaken?"

"Certainly," she responds, a little more upbeat than before. "But more pressing matters come before this conversation, Erik. I spoke with Christine as soon as I received this," she says, motioning at the invitation. "She's informed me that under no circumstances does she want to marry this Marquis, so stop holding it against her. It's noble marriage, Erik. These things happen."

Feeling a little cynical, I respond, "Maybe I'll come up to the real world for a little while and be normal. You know, marry someone by force, win friends by money, that whole bit."

"Erik, please stop it. I don't have much time and you are truly starting to get on my very last nerve. With Christine getting married I'm not going to have much more of a head to visit you when you're like this." I shrug it off.

"You never had much of a head for me anyway," I respond a little too coolly. "I need time alone. Get out before I bring out that Punjab lasso." Antoinette sighs angrily.

"Erik, I am ashamed of you! After all of these years you threaten _me_, of all people, with that lasso?" I watch as she walks briskly over to my desk and draws out my unused Punjab lasso. "I'll be taking this." I lunge for it like a small child would, but Antoinette is much quicker. "I'm not taking any chances when you're like this. You've been clean for four years and you are not screwing it up now. Have a good day." She curtsies lightly and departs, taking with her my gondola.

"You'll be returning that!"

"I've not returned it to you for years, Erik. What makes you think I'll change now?" I sigh as I watch her sail out across the lake into the darkness of the catacombs.

"You could just use the other entrance!" Antoinette doesn't listen to my comment, and I withdraw into my chambers in silence. Maybe I shall write another letter to Christine to ease my mind…


	6. Escapees, Martyrs, and Liars

A/N- Antoinette gives Erik the middle name of "Monet" which, in French, means "solitary."

_**Chapter Five – Escapees, Martyrs, and Liars**_

_Paris 1874_

**Christine**

"Christine?" Meg asks me as we peruse the shops in the center of Paris. I am busy ogling over a glorious necklace in the Swarovski shop window set in white gold and do not hear Meg's question. "Christine Daaè!"

"What?" I respond angrily at her harsher tone. "I'm a little busy!" I say, somewhat sarcastically, motioning to the necklace.

"Don't you think they'll notice?" The last two weeks have been torture for Meg, knowing that she will pull off one of the greatest scandals in Parisian Society in years. "I mean, I look nothing like you and…" I press a gloved finger to her lips.

"Hush, my dear Meg. Everything will be fine. By the time they realize you're not me I'll be long gone." Meg's eyes widen in confusion, maybe fear.

"But…" she complains in protest, but I interrupt, moving my hands to her arms, holding tight.

"I'm leaving Paris, Meg. There is nothing here for me. The minute you are safe in the chapel I am gone."

"Christine!" She begs, angered with me.

"Meg, my sweet, do not argue. My mind is set. I am leaving." Meg whimpers softly and throws herself into my arms, crying onto my shoulder. "Please, Meg, don't cry. Please don't. Do not make this more difficult than it already is!"

"Where will you go? What will you do? You certainly wouldn't do anything disgraceful, Christine Emmanuelle Daaè!" She looks at me sternly, much like her mother.

"I won't do anything I will regret, but that's not to say the things I do will not be disgraceful." I am telling the truth. There is no telling what lies ahead for me once I abandon Paris.

"Christine, you horrid thing! I'll tell my mother, I will!" Meg puts her hands on her hips, staring fiercely at me.

"Please, Meg, no! You cannot tell a soul that I'm leaving Paris!" I reply viciously. "Really, Meg. I have to do this alone and I cannot have anyone meddling in my affairs. You must set your mind on your task, and that is to marry the Marquis of Luxembourg." Tears form in Meg's entrancing blue eyes, cascading down her face in silent streams.

"But where will I find you? I need to find you one day, Christine! It's been too long to just say farewell now!" Meg cries ever more.

"We do not have to say our goodbyes now, my dear. I don't know where I will go, but once I am safe I will contact you somehow." I kiss her forehead tenderly. "I need you to understand, Meg. Here," I draw a few notes of money out of my cloak. "Take it." I force it into her hands, closing her fingers around it.

"I couldn't…" she protests.

"Please, Meg. Take it. Buy something nice for your first child for me." I smile gently at her and feel myself in her embrace again. Stroking her tousled blonde locks, I whisper, "It's okay, Meg. You'll be all right. We're going to make it through this and we're both going to be fine," but I feel like I'm lying. I still do not know where I will run to, with whom I will seek refuge. The mere thought of wandering alone brings tears to my eyes, but I must do it for my own sake. Paris holds too many painful memories.

We complete our shopping and return to the van Ellsworth Mansion where I've been staying since my time at Chagny has been terminated along with my title. The mansion is completely deserted when Meg and I arrive. Gaston I know to be on a short retreat with a few friends, but Madame… "Where's your mother?"

"She's…out," Meg responds quietly. "She's visiting a friend." Her voice stumbles over the words and I look at her skeptically.

"What friend would call on her on a Sunday evening? Surely nobody we know…" I question her.

"She's visiting a friend, okay?" Meg snaps, sounding a bit like a bitch taken from her pups. "You need not know the name." I cast my gaze to the ground. Never before has Meg spoken this way with me and it chills me to the core. "She should be returning soon."

As if on cue, Madame walks through the door. "Girls! I didn't know you'd be home this early!"

"I didn't know you'd be home this late," Meg replies rudely. "Did Erika keep you?" she asks.

Madame blushes a little and stutters, "Um, yes, she did keep me a little later than usual."

"Than usual?" I ask. "You've never visited someone named Erika before! What's her last name? Where's she from? Who is her…"

"Christine, you will get yourself in trouble for being this inquisitive," Madame reprimands me, cutting short the conversation. However, I'm beginning to think that there is no Erika. Rather, there is a man meant not to be mentioned, a man I've sinned over my fair share of times.

**Erik**

The daylight burns my eyelids, but I must do this. Antoinette has not visited for days now, and I am beginning to worry for her. I have decided against wearing my normal costume of full black, just in case there is another presence in the van Ellsworth Mansion besides Antoinette and myself ready to decipher my true identity, but I still wear my fedora bent low over my face to cover my mask. I turn down the lane and find myself on the grand doorstep of her home.

I rap on the wood impatiently and proceed to tap my toe as I wait. Within moments, the door creaks open and I am standing mere feet from Christine. She cannot see my mask, I know, but I am aware that she feels intimidated. "Excuse me, Mademoiselle. I am here to see Madame van Ellsworth." I remind myself not to call her Antoinette, as nobody calls her that but me, her husband, and close family, and Christine must not know who I am.

"Oh," Christine stutters, "of course, Monsieur. Right this way." She beckons for me to follow her and I do, shutting the door in my wake. Christine leads me through a few large rooms before reaching the door to a sitting room. "Wait here," she orders, turning to the door. "Madame? There is a Monsieur…"

"Destler," I say, remembering the name of one of the stagehands at the Opera Populaire many years before.

"…a Monsieur Destler here to see you." Antoinette appears at the doorway beside Christine and her eyes widen at the sight of me.

"Of course, Monsieur Destler! I'll speak with you in the East Lounge, if you will. Christine, best get to your tea before it cools, dear." My angel nods and, after curtsying politely to me, hurries off into the sitting room where I see Meg already positioned on a little lounge chair.

I am jolted back to earth as Antoinette grabs my hand sharply and drags me off into another lounge. Closing the door forcefully behind her, she turns to me. "Erik! How dare you call on me at home? Do you realize that you could've been recognized? By my Christine, nonetheless! Who do you think yourself to be, a common man who can waltz around to estates like our own without a thought in his head?" Her eyes are alight with fury.

"Antoinette, I did not mean to cause you or Christine any harm. On the contrary, I was worried for you. You haven't visited me in days and it's not like you." I reprimand the woman sternly, sounding much like businessman whose employee did not show up for work.

"Erik, I am a grown woman and I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I would've sent word with Meg if anything had happened. And if you must know, I could not visit you for the sake of your anonymity. Christine nearly found out that I've been visiting you when I arrived home late from my last visit. In fact, I think she _does_ know. But it's best to keep this secret." Pausing for a moment, she adds, "You must leave."

I am hit by a bolt of brilliance and I say to her, "Antoinette, allow me to stay for tea with Meg and Christine. They need not know who I am. I can disguise my voice just as well, and the hat hides all."

"Erik, you must think my girls fools. They will certainly question your hat and your choice to position it across your face. They are not dull girls, Erik." I see in her for the moment the stern dance instructor she once was and it produces a smile on my face, a very rare one at that.

"Please, Antoinette. You have no idea what good it'd do me." She rolls her eyes, her hands on her hips.

"Erik, I am soon going to regret the day I saved you from that gypsy circus." I stand up and put a hand on her arm.

"Don't regret it, Antoinette. My life would've been a hell either way, so it doesn't matter in the slightest." She smacks me like I am a child. "What was that for?" I roar at her.

"Don't you go making me pity you, Erik. 'A hell either way!' You make yourself sound like a martyr." Antoinette replies rudely.

"Maybe I am one." Antoinette snorts and leads me off to the sitting room where Meg and Christine reside.

"Girls, I'd like you to meet Monsieur Erik Monet Destler. He's a close friend of Gaston's from years past." I nod to Antoinette for her kind, but false, introduction as Christine and Meg stand to greet me. "Erik, the blonde is my daughter Marguerite and the brunette is nearly my daughter. Her name is Christine." Both girls curtsy to me, and I take each of their hands in turn and press a kiss to their knuckles. When I take Christine's hand, I feel a slight shiver running through her, but she does well to hide it. I sense her brown-eyed gaze on me as I sit in one of the recliners and remove my cape.

"Monsieur Destler," Meg asks, "would you not like to remove your hat as well?" Curses to the girl! She damn well knows my identity and yet she asks such a naïve question.

"I prefer not to, Mademoiselle Marguerite," I reply kindly, taking all measures to restrain myself from striking her across the face for her blatant stupidity.

"What is your profession, Monsieur?" Christine asks, her voice, though rough from years of disuse, is still intoxicating to me.

I pause to collect my thoughts and reply, "I am an architect by profession, but I compose music in my spare time though there is precious little of it." Christine nods in approval, still eyeing me closely. Meg and Antoinette exchange nervous glances while Christine is watching me and the whole room is silent for a few long moments.

"What types of music do you compose?" Meg questions me, making an effort to start some conversation.

"I've composed many a requiem and aria in my day, but I've written a few scores for operas when I've had long stretches of inspiration." Antoinette seems intrigued with my nearly-effortless lies. True, I compose music, but I must hide most of the truth from Christine.

"You know, Erik," Antoinette starts, "Christine used to sing in the opera. Did you not, my dear?" Christine shoots Antoinette a rude and angered glance, then turns to me.

"I sang once or twice," she admits.

"Christine, really," Meg chuckles, "you didn't just sing once or twice! You were the Prima Donna, the star!"

"Were you really?" I question my beauty, sounding utterly interested as though I have not heard this before. I can see in Christine's eyes that she does not like the direction our conversation is heading in, but she nods anyway, meekly, of course, but she nods. "In what operas?"

Christine starts to look a little uneasy. "I sang in _Hannibal_ as well as another, though it is not well-known and has not been performed since."

It is Antoinette's turn to lie furiously, though Christine is not aware that I know of her untruthfulness. "It was a simple opera written by a member of the company. It was a failure, to say the least." If this were any other situation, I'd feel great remorse for Antoinette's insults of my masterpiece, but she has good reason. It seems as though lies are becoming more and more acceptable in this home. Christine lies. Meg does not hold a promise to maintain my anonymity fully. Antoinette tells complete untruths to Christine, my darling Christine. And I have been a liar for as long as I can possibly remember. It is unusual, as Antoinette is usually a very pure person.

By the time I depart, Christine seems to be doing all she can not to fall in a dead faint on the floor. I am nearly certain that she does not know of my identity, but my similar looks to the Phantom she knows must bring a chill to her spine. I kiss each lady's hand before I leave the mansion, then I walk down the lane alone in the oncoming darkness, snow drifting down upon me. A few hundred paces away, I glance back and see a face at one of the top windows, a pale face amidst a mass of unruly hair; my angel now watches over me.


	7. Lord and Lady van Ellsworth

_**Chapter Six – Lord and Lady van Ellsworth**_

_Paris 1874_

It is merely weeks before the New Year's festivities and I cannot be joyous. In but a day Meg will be wed to the Marquis of Luxembourg, and it chills me to the depths of my soul to know that I will not be joining her. Rather, I will be running away. I've thought nightly about where I will go, where I will stay, what I will do to support myself. I've heard many a tale about runaway brides who turn to prostitution to solve their problems. That is not me. I will not fall prey to men and their thirst for sexual contact.

During supper, Gaston and Antoinette talk in hushed tones about things Meg and I can only wish to hear, though I guess they're about me and my future as the Marchioness of Luxembourg. They do not know that it is not my life they discuss, but Meg's. Besides their short conversation, supper is a silent affair.

After the food has been cleared away by the kitchen maids, Gaston says, "Christine, my dear, would you will it that we go out for a stroll on your last evening unmarried?" I am honored at his kindness, and nod.

"That would be lovely, Gaston, thank you." He smiles at me, and I am glad to have a true father figure in my life.

"I'm afraid, Gaston, that I'll have to decline," Meg states plainly. "I fear that it is time for my womanly cycle and it would do me best to lie down."

"Oh, Meg dear, of course!" Madame runs to her daughter. "Gaston, you and Christine take a walk while I make sure that Meg is comfortable. And be sure to dress warmly, now! It's bitterly cold out there!"

"Yes, darling," Gaston says, bending down to kiss Madame on the cheek, turning her face a light shade of crimson. "Come, Christine." We walk to the back door and cover ourselves in our heavy winter overcoats, hats and gloves. Out into the oncoming night we walk, snow cracking beneath our feet. It is mostly silent until, about five minutes into our walk, Gaston speaks. "Christine, dear?" I look up at him, acknowledging his call.

"Yes, Gaston?"

"Tell me honestly; do you want to marry the Marquis?" I stop dead in my tracks and look at Gaston. He puts a gloved hand under my chin. "I know you do not wish to be wed to him, my dear. There is quite a lot one can learn from watching the way a bride-to-be acts around her bridegroom." I blush. "Christine, you know I think of you as a daughter and as a father I do not want to see you unhappy." The words linger in the air like leaves on the autumn breeze, just floating around until they eventually falter.

I throw my arms around Gaston, hugging him like I did with my own father when I was very little. He strokes my uncovered hair with a strong hand, calming me. "Oh, Gaston, why must I marry him?" I say, my voice muffled from my being encased in his warm embrace. "He's a snotty pig!"

"I can't say I understand your plight, Christine. A man shall never know what a woman feels in these arrangements, especially when they themselves were wed in a love match like Antoinette and me." I bury my face in his shoulder, crying like a helpless child.

"I wish," I sniffle, "that Raoul were still alive. He'd never do anything to make me feel unwanted or unimportant." Gaston leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.

"Christine, know that I take no more pleasure than you in walking down that aisle tomorrow. Giving you away to that Marquis may be the low point of my marriage to Antoinette to date." I hug Gaston even tighter.

"You don't have to convince me of that, Gaston. I'm well aware." I smile up at him. He opens his mouth to speak but I am quicker, "And don't say that you could've acted the father and interfered in the wedding plans. I'm quite all right and you mustn't apologize."

"It's hard to believe," he says softly, "that you are that little girl I used to watch dancing on the Paris stage besides Meg. You've blossomed into a mature young woman, Christine Daaè, and know that Antoinette and I are both so proud of you for how you've dealt with le Vicomte's passing." I bite my lip to hold back tears. "Christine, we would have given this to you tomorrow, but now is a wonderful time," Gaston says, reaching into his overcoat and drawing out a long box. He hands it to me and I take it with trembling fingers.

Gently, I pry open the box and my eyes go wide. Lying in the box is a glorious Swarovski hairpin, the top like a many-pointed star. "It isn't…"

"Antoinette had it recovered from the opera house and had the crystals reset. We thought it'd make a lovely touch to your hair tomorrow." I am going to cry and I know it. Lying in my hands is one of the many hairpieces used in my hair when I performed in _Hannibal_, shining like it did on that night so many years ago.

"Oh, Gaston!" I push myself into his embrace yet again, glad to have his strong, fatherly arms around me. "This means so much!" I feel so much guilt knowing that he will not see it in my hair tomorrow. It will be long gone with me.

"You deserve it, Christine. It is gorgeous but you make it shine." The guilt is so overwhelming now that I do all I can not to fall down in the snow in a dead faint, but I work not to. Gaston need not know of my devilish plans, though God knows, he deserves to.

**Later…**

Later that evening, I lie in my bed reading a boring romance novel that was given to me by one of the other chorus girls many years ago that I never got around to reading. It's quite uninteresting, but I need something to do to get my mind off of tomorrow. Glancing to the side, I see my satchel full of clothing, money, and valuables stowed away in the wardrobe away from most prying eyes.

There is a knock at the door. "Christine? May I come in?"

"Of course!" I reply as Madame opens the door and enters my room, closing it behind her. "What is it, Madame?"

"Christine," she sighs mournfully, "isn't it time you called me Antoinette?" I chuckle slightly.

"Maybe, Mad...Antoinette," I correct myself, placing the novel down on my nightstand beside the box with the hairpin in it.

"Dear, I'd like to speak with you." I nod and move over a little on the bed, allowing Antoinette room to sit down upon it. "Gaston informed me of your conversation earlier. Is there anything you'd like to tell me that I don't know?" I bite my lip, trying hard to maintain composure.

"Well, I…I…" I try to hold back the tears, but I cannot. "I'm the reason Meg's not marrying the Marquis! I wanted to keep her from him so I told Lady Samantha that your family had no noble title and I ruined your reputations!" Antoinette takes me in her arms and holds me close.

"Christine, do not feel guilty. I will not tell Meg. As for Gaston and I, we're perfectly fine without a wonderful reputation. You needn't worry." But I must worry. I am leaving tomorrow, running away from this family who has loved me so truly.

"Antoinette?" I'll tell her. I can trust Antoinette.

"Yes, Christine?" She still doesn't know. There is still time to avoid telling. No. I must make her aware of this.

"I'm not marrying the Marquis tomorrow." Antoinette's eyes go wide. "Don't worry, I'm not committing suicide and I'm not running off with somebody else. I'm leaving Paris."

"To go where?" Antoinette asks me, a little too loudly. I press a finger to her lips.

"Hush, Antoinette! We mustn't let anybody else know of this!" Antoinette nods. "And to answer your question, I've decided on Persia."

"Persia! Christine, that's months of travel! And you're alone!" Antoinette is clearly afraid for me, like any mother would be for her daughter, and I'm not even related. I can't imagine what her reaction would be if I were Meg.

"I'll manage, Antoinette. I can't stay in Europe. There are too many memories that I have to rid myself of," I say truthfully.

"Oh, Christine," Antoinette hugs me tightly. "Promise me you'll be careful!"

"I promise, Antoinette. I promise." I kiss her on the cheek. "I'll stay safe. And I'll write to you and Meg once I'm settled and things have quieted down."

"Don't do anything you'll regret later, Christine. Life was made for taking chances but taking chances shouldn't dictate your life." Antoinette pauses. "But what about the Marquis?"

"Meg shall marry him. You and I will disguise her and I know he'd prefer her anyway." Antoinette's eyes widen to about three times their normal size.

"Meg? My Meg is marrying the Marquis of Luxembourg?" Antoinette looks as though she could fall in a dead faint, so I do not speak. I merely nod. After moments of silence, Antoinette asks, "When will you be leaving?"

"I'm leaving as soon as Meg is walking down the aisle. I'll have a horse ready for myself so I can get away." Antoinette still looks unsure. "Please, don't tell anyone. I couldn't bear to see problems caused on my behalf more than they already will be." Antoinette kisses my forehead. "I suppose I'll be going to bed now."

"Yes, Christine, you wouldn't want to be tired for your wedding," Antoinette says, winking at me before departing. In the pit of my stomach, I feel the worst pang of guilt for what I'm doing to Antoinette and Meg. And sweet Gaston still thinks I'm marrying the Marquis with the gorgeous hairpin he and Antoinette gave to me. But my mind must not rest on these things; it must rest on the harems of the Far East, the land of Persia.


	8. Masks Undone

A/N- This isn't my best chapter under any circumstances, and it may well be rewritten…but only time will tell that!

_**Chapter Seven – Masks Undone**_

_Paris 1874_

**Erik**

I cannot believe I am going through with this. After all of this time hoping that Christine would come back to me she is again being pulled away, out of my reach. Luckily, my little excursion to the van Ellsworth Mansion proves to my advantage; I no longer must hide. I can merely be a close friend of Antoinette van Ellsworth, the close friend of the bride.

I dress in accordance with the fashion of the day and cloak myself in many layers to protect against the cold. My outfit set, I walk down one of the passageways and out into the Paris winter. The air is bitter cold and it bites at the left side of my face, the only part of me that is uncovered. Through the fierce wind, my fedora is blown off and I run to grab it off of the snow before anybody sees me. I am lucky, utterly lucky.

There is quite a bit of traffic on the lane leading up to the chapel in which Christine will become the Marchioness of Luxembourg. I wind my way among many an antsy horse, large carriages, and pedestrians such as myself, all fighting to reach their destination and be out of the cold. My way of being expeditious is very useful, and I am soon in the grand foyer of the chapel.

"Good morning, Monsieur," says one of the attendants in the hall. "May I take your coat and hat?" I hand the lad my cape and gloves, along with a few francs. He looks utterly confused, but does his job anyway. I glance around, both hoping to see a familiar face and hoping not to.

At the entry to the actual chapel stands Antoinette's husband, Gaston van Ellsworth. She is very lucky I approved of the man, or his head would be in a noose many times over; I'm very particular about the safety of my few companions, though I could not protect them now with my Punjab lasso in Antoinette's possession.

Gaston is currently greeting the couple and child I saw with Christine at the funeral of le Vicomte. The girl seems very impatient to her parents' conversation with van Ellsworth and I chuckle; she reminds me of Christine as a child. The girl would come crying to me after having to sit through another boring rehearsal of Carlotta screaming at the others in the company, and all the while having to be still and silent. She'd cry over being reprimanded by Antoinette if she did budge at all during one of the temperamental diva's complaint sessions. The poor girl would cry to me, her Angel of Music, over just about anything.

The couple and their daughter move on through the doors and I hurry up to Gaston. "Greetings, Monsieur!" he says, bowing to me.

"You are Lord van Ellsworth, are you not?" Gaston nods. "I am looking for your wife, Lady van Ellsworth. Have you seen her?"

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but she is with the bridal party. I'll be leaving to join her soon enough, and if you give me your name…"

"Thank you, Lord van Ellsworth, but that will not be necessary." I move to walk into the chapel when Gaston puts out an arm to stop me.

"Have you an invitation?" Damn.

"Your wife invited me…" I start but I am interrupted.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot take your word for it. The Dowager Marchioness is very careful about who she allows into her events. You may stay out in the foyer. Again, I apologize." Gaston nods to me, and I can tell he is being honest.

"Thank you, Lord van Ellsworth." I retreat to a bench in the foyer and sit down, watching as many other high-class guests arrive. Many a child stops and points at me, the odd man with the hat over his face, before their parents shoo them away into the chapel. Seconds pass, then minutes, and eventually Gaston leaves the doorway to be with the bridal party, with my Christine.

**Christine**

I stand behind Meg at the end of the bridal party in a long riding cape and many layers of clothing to protect me from the cold. Meg looks resplendent in my wedding gown, the layers of satin and lace flattering her dancer's frame. Her hair is piled atop her head and hidden by a hat and veil. "Christine, don't do this! You can't leave, not now!" she whimpers.

"I have to, Meg. I do," I whisper in response, hugging her tightly but not tight enough to muss her dress…my dress. I turn to Antoinette. "Please, Antoinette, don't say anything of my flight. Let them assume I left in the night sometime." I embrace her too and feel tears on my cheek.

"My darling Christine, I wish you only the best," Antoinette responds, though it is clear that it is with difficulty.

Just then, Gaston arrives from greeting guests in the foyer. He turns to talk with one of the attendants standing at the door, giving me time to hide away. One of Meg's cousins, Cecilia, is standing in for her as the Maid of Honor and I thank God for their similar looks. Antoinette glances back at me as Gaston takes his place on Meg's other side, not knowing that it isn't me as we are the same height.

The music starts, and the bridal party begins its long journey down the aisle to the altar. After the van Ellsworth's and Meg disappear from the back room, I leave my hiding spot and watch from the doorway. Meg looks absolutely radiant walking down the aisle, and I would not be able to tell that she is not me if I did not know. I touch the pin in my hair, the star hairpin Gaston and Antoinette gave me, and I shudder out of the purest guilt yet again.

Everything seems to be going wonderfully as Antoinette, Gaston, and Meg come ever closer to the altar. To my horror, however, Antoinette halts, terror in her eyes. As she acknowledges her daughter, she shouts, "It is not Christine!"

**Erik**

The bridal party looks beautiful, but there is something not right, even from my poor vantage point in the foyer. Antoinette does not look happy escorting Christine down the aisle and Gaston seems to be the only joyous one of the three. My beautiful Christine being forced to marry this man she thinks a pig.

I am utterly surprised when Antoinette stops in the middle of the aisle and yells, pointing at Christine, "It is not Christine!"

Confusion and chaos follows and another woman, the Baroness von Oldenburg, shouts, "It is the Giry girl!" The bride removes her headpiece and blonde locks flow freely, proving the suspicions true. There is much more shouting as the doors to the antechamber in which the bridal party had been bursts open. I turn to see a whirl of heavy fabric and unruly hair fly by me; Christine.

"Christine!" Antoinette bangs open the doors from the chapel and runs towards Christine, who has escaped out the door and into the Paris winter. I catch Antoinette in my arms and hold her.

"Stop, Antoinette! Let her go." My hat has been thrown to the ground, but it is irrelevant. "Let her go." Gaston appears beside his wife and I give her up into his embrace, turning to look out into the chill city beyond the doors. Growing ever smaller is Christine, my Christine. _God be with her._


	9. Close Encounters of a New Kind

_**Chapter Eight – Close Encounters of a New Kind**_

_The Road to Persia – 1875_

**Christine**

My feet ache like a thousand hot coals are burning them from all sides, shriveling them up until there is nothing left for me to walk on. My horse has long since fallen ill and I left him at one of the camps days back. Maybe it was weeks, I don't know. There is no measure of time out here in the desert. I know that it is a new year, but there will be no resolution for me. There are no definite things in my life now, nothing at all.

I collapse down upon the dirt road, the sun beating down on my head. My skin has gradually adjusted to the sunlight and I am no longer violent red like the bricks on the de Chagny Mansion. Rather the contrary, I am an unrecognizable tan color, one that would earn me many bad looks in Parisian Society where my pale skin was regaled.

Holding a scarf over my face to protect my eyes from the brilliant rays of sunlight, I look at my surroundings. Nothing. Nothing but a barren wasteland. It serves me right, running away like I did. It serves me right for trusting people with my secret. I watch intently as a tear drops from my burning face onto the cracked earth beneath me, sizzling upon contact. I was certainly not prepared for this heat when I left Paris.

Looking upon myself, I realize what terrible shape I am in. My dress, my once-beautiful riding dress, is torn at all of the hems, and the ragged bottom edge reveals my cracked bare feet; I simply couldn't stand boots. Along the way I've abandoned my many layers of clothes, including my corset and many of my undergarments. All that is left from when I departed Paris is my dress, pantalets, chemise, and cape for warmth at night, along with a scarf I was given by a woman by the side of the road.

Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I stand up and continue on into the oblivion of the East. Days, weeks back I asked a pushcart man where I should head to start a new life. He told me, "Sardes, milady. Sardes has all of the best jobs." It did not register with me then that he meant prostitution as a job, but when a sign came up in the road I headed towards this Sardes. Now I have no choice but to go there.

I round a bend in the road and see up ahead of me a hunched figure stumbling along. It seems hurt, so I rush to it and see that it is, in fact, a man. His skin is badly burned from the sun and his body is barely covered, his only clothing being a pair of ragged pants. "Help," he whines, his voice hoarse.

"Sir," I reply, trying not to sound too frightened, "what has happened?" I bend down beside the man and put my hand on his back. "Sir?"

With that, the man grabs my wrist, newfound strength within him, and throws me upon the ground. Pressing a grimy hand to my mouth, he grabs my waist and hauls me over his shoulder. I try to scream but am met only by the dirty film on his hand. The man carries me off into a little patch of shrubbery and throws me onto the hard-packed earth, his hand still stifling my screams.

Terror wracks my body as the man uses his free hand to roughly push the hem of my dress up and over my waist, revealing my pantalets and the bottom of my chemise. I work to push him away with my hands and feet, but my legs are restrained by his and he responds not to my little fists. I sense that he is untying the laces of my undergarments and I attempt to bite at his fingers, but he acts as though it is nothing. As he reaches for the waistband of my pantalets, there is a sickening crack and he is knocked to the ground.

Above him stands a man neither too tall nor too short with native looks about him. He extends a hand to me and I tentatively take it in my own, allowing him to lift my slight form from the ground. I brush myself off as the man moves to inspect the form of my attacker on the ground. "Sir?" The native man turns to look at me, his gold eyes bright. "Is he…dead?"

"No, my lady, he is not dead. He'll have quite a nasty headache when he wakes up, though," he answers, motioning to a large rock on the ground beside my attacker. "That was quite the encounter," he mentions. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, a little more upbeat. "Thank you for saving me."

"It was nothing, my lady. I am no stranger to saving lives." The man begins to walk away from me, but I run to catch up.

"Tell me your name. I must know what I may call my savior." I look at the man with pleading eyes, as he is clearly not interested in telling me much. "Please, sir." He stares back at me, his gold eyes boring into my own brown ones.

"You may know me as the Daroga. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way." The man who calls himself the Daroga walks away from me down the dusty path.

"Wait!" I shout, running after him. "Take me with you," I plead. The Daroga looks at me skeptically, and I add, "I don't know where I'm going or what I'm to do once I get there. At least show me my way to the nearest city, Sardes preferably, if you can."

The Daroga sighs. "Follow this path until you reach a fork. Take the left path and keep going for another few miles. It'll put you right in the center of Sardes, but after that I cannot give you any help. I know not the city, merely how to get there."

"Thank you, Daroga," I reply, curtsying with what is left of my dress. "I hold you in the highest respect." But he is off in the direction from which I came. Turning around, befuddled at his sudden rudeness, I look ahead of me. "Sardes," I say, to nobody in particular, "here I come."

**Erik**

I pace around in Antoinette's parlor, waiting for her to come and join me. It has been nearly two months since Christine's flight from the wedding and Antoinette hasn't spoken more than a few words to a soul, not even her husband. I worry for her health and her sanity, more than I have in the past.

"Erik!" Antoinette's voice, full of shock, greets me from the doorway. "What in God's name are you doing here? It's dangerous…"

"Antoinette van Ellsworth, do you really think it matters anymore? Your husband knows who I am and so does your daughter. It seems pretty safe for me to arrive unexpectedly in your own home. But, if you'd rather I leave…" I know that leading her on like I do will make her allow me to stay.

"No, Erik. Stay. I've been meaning to talk to you since New Year." Her stern face softens into a half-smile.

"It's quite a while to wait to speak to me, Antoinette. You really should've called on me or sent Meg…excuse me, the Marchioness to fetch me." Upon bringing up Meg's marriage, Antoinette's soft look goes rigid again.

"Erik, I meant to talk to you about that day…" Antoinette sits down beside me on the couch and motions for the maids to take their leave from the room, leaving us in privacy. "The day Meg became the Marchioness."

"What is there to talk about, Antoinette? That you betrayed Christine's trust, maybe? That you tried to thwart an attempt to make Meg what was rightfully her position? I know the story, Antoinette. I overheard the baroness speaking of it." I had, in fact, overheard the story. The Baroness von Oldenburg had not struck down Meg as a perspective bride for the Marquis. Rather, it had been Christine.

"I did not betray Christine's trust, Erik…"

"I would not tell such lies, Antoinette, when your daughter filled me in on everything after the fact." Antoinette blushes a rosy red, her pale cheeks stained with the color.

"Erik, I did it for her sake. She should not have run away like she did, and to Persia nonetheless…"

"Persia?" I shout, standing abruptly. "Christine's gone to _Persia_? Is she mad? She'll get herself raped or worse, killed! She'll make no alliances there!"

"Maybe that's what she wants," Antoinette replies coolly, and I hunch down beside her, looking up at her face.

"If you think that's what she wants, then why did you try to stop her from leaving?" Antoinette's flush increases, the skin of her cheeks now a deeper shade of crimson.

"I have my reasons, Erik," she answers me, her voice bitter.

At that moment, Gaston appears at the door. "Am I interrupting anything, darling? Oh, Erik, it's wonderful to see you again." I stand up and Gaston shakes my hand amiably. "How have you been?"

"As good as is possible, Gaston. And yourself?" This courtesy is very new to me, and I stumble across my words. Never in my life has somebody wanted to pose a polite and proper conversation with me on the grounds of friendship. It was always sarcastic discussions regarding my life as a deranged and disfigured musical genius.

"I'm doing very well, thank you. Why is it that you've decided to call upon us?" Aha! There had to be a point to this forced conversation; he merely wants to know my business with his wife, not that I can blame the man.

"Well, I came here to discuss what we are to do about Mademoiselle Daaè's flight from Paris. It's quite possible that she's in a great deal of danger and I know that none of us here wish her hurt or in any way threatened." Gaston sighs tremendously.

"Maybe we should sit down. Don't you think, my dear?" he asks Antoinette, and she nods. Once the three of us are situated, me on a chair and the couple on the couch, Gaston speaks again. "There is nothing we can do about Christine's disappearance, Erik, besides hope. If what Antoinette says is true, she's taken off to Persia..."

"As I've only just found out," I interrupt, an action warranting a severe glare from Antoinette.

"She has taken off to Persia," Gaston continues, "and there is very little we can do with such a great distance between here and there. If you have any ideas…"

"Do you doubt my abilities, Monsieur?" I reply coolly.

"Erik…" Antoinette reprimands me angrily, put out by the fact that I am resorting to my old tendencies to act superior to people.

"I don't doubt you whatsoever, Erik," Gaston tells me, "but I do doubt whether or not Christine is worth our trouble any longer." I stand up almost instantaneously, shaking the chair. In a louder voice, as if having to overcome my rage, Gaston adds, "Antoinette agrees with me! She needs time to herself to come to terms with some things. If this is truly the wrong decision, she will return."

"Have you no mind, Gaston? Would you wish her to return to you in a casket with a headstone? God damn it, know you nothing of Persia? It's not right that she's there! She will return to you dead!" My face is flushed from yelling and my heart beats rapidly in my chest.

"Erik, please," Antoinette pleads. "Calm down and we can discuss this issue rationally."

"Rationality is what concerns you? Your hypocrisy drives me mad, Antoinette van Ellsworth! You speak to me of being rational yet you disown a girl you know as your child! Have you no common sense?" I walk briskly towards the door. "I shall give you two weeks to think your opinions over. After that I am leaving for Persia, with or without your blessings." With that, I storm from the room.


	10. New Faces, New Names

_**Chapter Nine – New Faces, New Names**_

_The Road into Sardes – 1875_

The heat really is beginning to get to me. My skin of my tiny feet is cracked and broken from the dryness and is coated in a layer of crusty mud and sand. I feel disgusting, even more so after my encounter with that man on the road. Thank God for the man who calls himself the Daroga. I am thoroughly in his debt, though I know not how I will ever thank him truly or make it up to him.

As I draw closer to Sardes, I see many peddlers and other vendors lining the road every half-mile or so. They try and draw me in with their silly falsehoods about how amazing their product is, but I ignore them completely. I have a place to be, a life to create, and I cannot busy myself with such trivial things.

Finally, Sardes comes into full view, glimmering in the sun as if it is underwater. I sigh tremendously, collapsing onto the dirt path just to admire the city. It isn't much, but it will be home, at least for the foreseeable future. My eyelids start to droop, so I stand up, fighting against the sleep that threatens to overwhelm me. I've gotten little of it since I fled Paris, and my body aches for the hours of rest it deserves and hasn't received. Maybe I don't deserve it after all.

My feet cause little puffs of dust to spring from the ground in uneven gritty clouds. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand but they still itch from the sand. I must keep going. Sardes! It's right there! I must reach it!

My determination and willpower fail. Legs giving out from under me, I fall unceremoniously to the ground in a heap, a dirty bedraggled heap. Tears form in my sand-burned eyes, spilling down my dirty cheeks and drying before being able to fall off my chin. "Raoul," I whisper to the wind, turning my head upwards. "Raoul, are you up there? I'm sorry Raoul! I've failed you…"

The world starts to go black all around me. There is a much darker shadow moving closer and closer, but I cannot make out what it is. That is the last I can distinguish before my whole world turns the color of pitch.

**Later…**

My eyes flutter open, still gritty from the sand. It takes a few minutes to adjust, and I see many spots of multicolor swirling around in the air in my range of vision. My hand responds to me as I move it to rub at my eyes, but some outer force stops it in its path. A soothing feminine voice, as if from far away, says, "Do not touch your eyes. It'll only make it worse."

I blink to try and rid myself of the sandy residue in my brown orbs, but it works not the tiniest bit. Realizing that I have the strength to move, I sit up fully and yelp in soreness. How long have I been asleep? "Water…" I manage to gasp, only then realizing that my voice is sore and hoarse.

Immediately I find a flask in my hand and the same voice says, "It isn't water, but it'll do for now." Taking a gulp of the liquid in the flask I cough and choke on it; this is certainly not water, not even fine wine as I'm used to! "Ah, I see we have intolerance for alcohol." A hand reaches out and draws the flask of liquor from my grasp. "We'll have to fix that."

Finally, I open my eyes fully, squinting against the light and through the haze of grit impairing my vision. "Where am I?" I stutter.

"You're on the road into Sardes, my lady. I saw you collapse from heat exhaustion and didn't want to risk moving you." I look at the woman kneeling beside me, the one who offered me the flask of liquor, the one who advised me not to rub my eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

"I…I'm fine," I manage to say, my voice choked. "Who are you?" I inquire, a little curtly.

"My name is Indira and I live in the Shah's harem. Here, let me help you," she interrupts herself to help me up off of the ground. Indira, as she calls herself, is a bit taller than me with slightly older looks. Her eyes are a glorious hazel, her skin a perfect light cocoa color, and her dark, silky hair lies in plaits down her back. I brush myself off as she asks, "What about yourself?"

"My name is Christine," I say, a little nervous about lending my name to a stranger. "Christine de Chagny, née Daaè."

"No need for formalities such as those," Indira reprimands me with a flourish of her hand, as if blowing my formal speech away. "Where do you hail from, Miss Christine de Chagny, née Daaè?" she jests, poking fun at me and my polite Parisian ways.

"I am from Sweden by birth but I lived most of my life in Paris, most recently Chagny." Indira does not seem much affected by my connections to Paris nobility, my dear Raoul's family, but, then again, who would take notice to the infamous de Chagny family in Sardes? "What about you?"

"Well," Indira starts, "I was born and raised on a small farm just outside of Sardes, in that direction," she says, pointing out past the edges of the city on my right. "My parents and siblings died in a fire about twelve years ago, and I came into the city where I was found by the Khanum in the Shah's harem. She took me in and here I am!" she finishes, acknowledging herself.

I realize now that we have started walking in towards Sardes, the hazy city growing clearer to me now that my eyes have cleaned themselves out a bit. "I can take you with me to the harem, if you wish, Miss Christine. We have food and clothing for you and I'm sure that the Khanum, as well as the other girls, would love to hear some stories about Paris. That's all right with you?"

"Of course! Any willing gift of hospitality is welcome to me. Are you sure it isn't a burden upon this Khanum? Or the Shah?"

Indira chuckles. "Believe me, my dear; it is no problem at all."

**Later…**

The streets of Sardes are crowded, the little avenues bustling with life. Vendors' carts are vibrant with cloth in every shade imaginable, some glittering in the mid-afternoon sun, the jeweled embroidery catching many an eye. Indira leads me through the maze of streets into the heart of the city, trying to keep us in the shadow of some taller buildings for my comfort. I thank her gratefully, but she replies again that it is nothing.

"Fresh dates! Fresh nuts! Fresh fruits of all sorts! Come and get your fresh food!" A vendor shouts at me, grabbing my arm. "Well, missy, wouldn't you like to buy some figs?" He juggles some large figs in my face before Indira pulls me away.

"No luck with her, Murad!" Indira calls back to the vendor. "She's with me!" Before the vendor, Murad, can say more, Indira has dragged me along a new street and out of his sight. "Ignore Murad, Christine. He's an old fool who wants to sell more than just fruits." I ask no questions, saying nothing about her vulgar comment. I am not at all used to such colorful language being used in everyday conversation like it is nothing, and with somebody you barely know, nonetheless!

"Indira, my love!" shouts a man from one of the alleyways off of the main street we walk on. "I haven't seen you in days!" He grabs Indira from me, crushing her to his form. "Can't you tell how much I miss you, Indira?" he jests, pressing her tighter against his lower body in a way that I've only ever heard of in the sickening romances the ballet rats used to read.

"Affan, really now!" she responds, pressing a hand to his mouth as he leans down to do God knows what. "That can wait!"

"When can I see you?" he asks, his voice pained.

"Ask the Khanum and set up a time, damn it! Just because you know me well does not mean that I can break the rules for you! Now get!" Affan drops Indira and she shoos him away with a sweep of her hands. "Really!" she says under her breath so only I can hear. "Men think that they can just waltz up to me and take me as they will. No sense of the Rules!" Again I do not ask questions, fearing the answers I may be told.

Indira leads me down some more side streets until we have reached a large stone palace. I gape at the sight of it, but in no time at all Indira has led me around the structure, through some gardens and to a door in the side of the building. She pulls the heavy door open and gestures for me to make my way inside. I do so, a little wary, but glad to be out of the fierce heat.

The inside of the stone building is cool and dry, and my feet feel instant relief from the chilled tiles laid on the floor in an intricate pattern. "Follow me," Indira says as she leads me deeper into the building, our feet making soft pattering sounds that echo along the walls of the corridor we're in.

A maze of passages ensues, drawing me into the heart of the stone fortress, into the harem of which Indira speaks. I've heard of these harems, the residences of the wives, concubines, and other mistresses to a man, in this case the Shah. I do not fear it, for I know that they may sometimes take in girls from the outside merely to live with them, and I hope that will be all they ask of me.

The corridors suddenly open up into a cavernous chamber laden in rich, jewel-tone fabrics and low furniture. Around me are many women's bodies all lying asleep on soft mats strewn across the tiled floor. Indira ushers me over to one corner, a corner where there is a large array of pillows and plush mats. Buried amongst the softness is a sleeping woman's form. From the looks of it, she is decadently dressed and very nice looking, much like Indira, but older.

I am instructed by Indira to stand calmly and silently where I am, and my escort in turn walks up to the woman and nudges her awake. She lets out a little squeal before noticing the face of Indira. "Praise Allah, I thought you a sneak! My darling Indira, what's the matter? You received the fabrics I told you to fetch?"

"Yes, of course, Chi, but I found more than just the fabrics." She moves to the side, allowing the woman a view of me. I stand timidly, playing with my fingers and dragging my toes along the floor.

"What have we here?" the woman says softly, rising gracefully from her plush throne. "A Western girl?" Indira nods as the woman acknowledges my light skin.

"Her name is…" The woman makes a shushing sound to Indira.

"Let her tell me her own name, Indira. She must be assertive. Say your name, child, so that the whole harem could hear you."

Taking a deep breath, trying to give myself presence in the room, I say, "Christine."

"Christine…"

"…de Chagny, née Daaè." The woman smiles.

"I see we have a Western socialite on our hands." I find blood rushing to my cheeks at her comments. "Well, now you've introduced yourself, I shall introduce myself. Or, maybe I should let my dear Indira say it for me, as she does so well." It is Indira's turn to blush.

"Christine, this is the Khanum of the Shah's harem." The Khanum makes a clicking sound in Indira's direction.

"Indira, if she is to live with us she may as well call me by my name." She turns back to me. "You may call me Chandra, Ma'am de Chagny."

"Please," I interrupt, "call me Christine." Chandra smiles.

"I see you've learned your assertiveness, Christine, but that name will never do, though I love it immensely. Outside of the harem you will be known as Risa. It is much more becoming for a woman here than the name of the Christian Father. You are a Christian?" she asks me.

"A devout one," I respond sheepishly, a little ashamed.

"I do hope that not praying to Christ won't bother you. After all, you'd never have come here if you were that devoutly religious." I nod. "Good, Miss Risa. I am glad to have you here." The new name stings my ears like knives. It sounds so…so…foreign! Chandra snaps her fingers. "Lalitha and Lakhi will show you to your quarters." Two other women about my age come to greet the Khanum and me, both curtsying in their native garb. Chandra mutters something to them in a foreign language, and they beckon to me to follow them.

As I leave, Indira mouths to me, "I'll see you soon." I follow the women, Lalitha and Lakhi, into the chambers beyond the great hall. They direct me into a large room complete with intricate vanity and bed, along with a few mirrors and a wardrobe. The taller of the two says, "The washroom is down the hall to your right. You may go when you please. Oh, I'm Lakhi," she says, her voice very peppy and happy, "and this is Lalitha," she adds, acknowledging the shorter woman.

"We're so glad to greet you," Lalitha mentions. "We're sisters, actually. We were orphans and the Khanum took us in. Isn't that sweet?" I nod politely.

"I'm Christine, but the Khanum wishes me called Risa outside of the apartments," I state plainly.

"We heard," Lakhi responds, nodding emphatically. "Well, we'll leave you to get changed. There should be a few garments in the wardrobe."

"We'll check in on you later!" Lalitha says as the sisters take their leave. As soon as the door is closed, I collapse onto the low-lying mattress, soaking it all in. I am in the Shah's harem of Sardes in Persia. What would Raoul think of this?

**Later…**

I don't realize that I've fallen asleep until there is a knock at the door, rousing me. I stand up and hurry over to the threshold, opening the wooden barrier to see Indira. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" I say kindly, letting my new friend in. She closes the door behind her and walks over to my wardrobe. "What're you doing?"

"You really should get used to what you'll be wearing around here. What you've got simply won't do!" She does not have to state that for me to be aware of it. I've known that my clothes won't do anywhere in this part of the world for weeks now. "Here," Indira says, tossing a tangled mass of rich purple fabric at me. "It should compliment your skin and hair nicely."

"I…don't know what to do!" I admit, holding out the fabric. Indira sighs and comes over to me. She motions for me to spin around. I do and she starts unlacing the back of my dress. As soon as it falls from my shoulders, she strips me of my chemise and pantalets, leaving me utterly exposed. "Indira!"

"What, you expect me to hide my eyes while you change and still offer my services of help? Not happening! You must learn that modesty is a matter of opinion around here," she reprimands me forcefully. I give in, still crossing my arms over my chest and clenching my legs tightly together to hide my most womanly place. Indira chuckles softly. "Such a European you are, Miss Risa!" I really am not taking to the new name very well.

As Indira starts dressing me, I ask, "Tell me the truth, Indira; do men come here?"

Sounding startled, Indira begins, "Only if we allow them. They usually come a few days out of the week and once a month the Shah visits personally. Most often, though, it's men from the Outside. We'd have them more often, but there are the Rules to comply to. For example, one cannot serve more than three men a day; one cannot serve men more than two days in a row, and so on and so forth."

"Serve?" I question her nervously.

"Oh, of course! How else would we make money?" I feel bile starting to arise in my mouth. Money? Serving? "Of course, there are different charges, all determined by service and rank. The highest price is obviously a full evening's worth of fun from the ante-Khanum. That's me," she says, sounding very proud of herself. "We charge based on what the service requires, clearly, as well as the lady's proficiency, rank, and, in some cases, the state of the man. It takes much more heart and therefore more money to get a woman in with a man the Khanum finds incredibly vulgar or 'unsatisfactory.' We can also charge hourly. See, paying for a service does not allot you a certain time; when the service is complete you are gone. However, a man may prefer to have a lady for a certain stretch of time in which services can be performed, but that costs extra."

I gulp. It is what I've feared; I am in a home for prostitutes. In all I'd ever heard of Persia's many harems, the women were all for the Shah's use. But not this harem, not the harem of Sardes. These women sell themselves to men off of the street. These women live every day on the money they earn for such sinful deeds. Oh, dear God please help me escape this! The ladies seem nice enough, at least the four I've met, but what they do behind closed doors…one can only imagine. And the imagination is not always a pure thing.


	11. Angels take Flight

_**Chapter Ten – Angels take Flight**_

_Paris – 1875_

**Erik**

I need her and I need her badly. The moment I saw her, a mere child of nine, I knew that I wanted her, if only as a student. Then, on the night of _Hannibal_, the night of her debut as a star, I knew that I wanted her as more. When _Don Juan_ came around, I realized just how much I needed her, but now I need her desperately and badly. Every night I lie in my bed and think about her lying there beside me, her tiny form curled up against mine, or even…

No, I cannot think that way. But I do. I do and I am not ashamed. But I can't go on like this, thinking about her in a sexual way every night. She is far away from my prying eyes and aching body, but her spirit is still here, lingering in everything around me. I try to sate myself when the tension grows unbearable, but I'm left with evidence of my love on the sheets and a gaping hole in my heart.

_Stop doing this to yourself! What would she think of you?_ My conscience gets the better of me. My darling angel would not appreciate my sinful actions due to my ache for her. But would she want me to suffer? _She left you for Raoul. She swore not to see you, even speak of you!_

I should've gone after her when I had the chance, the adrenalin rush. I should have left Paris the minute I knew where she was. Now I am leading myself to hold things against her, things I should have long gotten over.

Trying to clear my mind, I walk over to my organ, pieces of parchment scattered across it emblazoned with musical staves waiting to be written on. One page sticks out from the rest, one with a title on the top of it; _L'Ange de Musique_, the Angel of Music. Only a few lines of music have been scripted upon it, the opening notes of the aria. I really must get to work on it.

The clock in my bedroom strikes twelve times; midnight. Have I really been up this long? _What day is it_?_ When was I last up in Paris?_ Two weeks ago. It has been two weeks. I gulp, bile rising in my mouth.

"I can't do this!" I shout to the emptiness of my lair, of the underground lake. "I can't go after her!"

_"Yes you can…_" I whirl around, trying to search out with my eyes the source of the voice. It sounds so familiar, yet so unwelcome. "_You must go after her._"

"Who's there?" I cry out into the darkness, wondering if I'm hallucinating. "Show yourself!"

"_If I did then you would want me to leave. I cannot help you if you send me away,_" the voice continues, its presence filling the chambers of my home.

"I can't send you away if I don't know who you…" This is most certainly a hallucination. He could not be…but he's dead! Am I hearing ghosts, spirits? "Raoul?"

"_Ah, what a smart man you are, Opera Ghost._" I can only imagine the fop's face at a sarcastic remark like that. It is so like him, so like a stuck-up rich man.

"I am no longer the Opera Ghost! I am…" But the spirit voice interrupts.

"_If you are no longer the Opera Ghost, Monsieur, why would you sign your letters with those initials?_" Damn this angel, this ghost, whatever he is!

"You've been watching me! That's…"

"_I was merely making an observation of the letters you intended to send to my wife. Now, good sir, what may I call you if not Opera Ghost? Phantom, perhaps? Angel of…_" It is my turn to interrupt.

"Don't speak that name! And, if you insist on a name for me, you may call me Erik." I didn't realize I have been breathing very heavily, and only now does it become apparent to me.

"_Erik,_" says the ghost voice, "_you must go after her. I know she wouldn't want to feel ignored. She knows you still love her._"

"Excuse me, Monsieur le Vicomte, but she cares nothing for me any longer. I know only that she ran out on her wedding to that Marquis."

"_Your statement holds true, Erik, but just because she doesn't show it doesn't mean she doesn't think it. All of us do and think things in private we wouldn't even consider showing elsewhere._" I try hard to keep a flush from rising to my cheeks. An angel, if that is in fact what this voice is rather than a hallucination, would know what I do to relieve myself of the longing I have for Christine.

"She doesn't love me!" my voice rings angrily in the lair. "She never has and she never…"

"Erik? Are you there?" I wake up to the sound of Gaston van Ellsworth's voice, my body covered in cold sweat. _It was all a dream…just a dream…_

"One moment!" I reply, hurrying out from under the covers and putting a black silk dressing gown over my pants. After making sure I'm decent, I walk out of my bedroom and find Gaston exiting one of the passageways from Paris and entering my lair. "Greetings," I say gallantly, bowing at the waist with a flourish, being a little sarcastic in my actions. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to hurry, Erik," Gaston says quickly, hastening to my room and pulling a large bag from his coat. "Antoinette will be awake soon and we need to get you a horse before she finds out I'm gone."

"Wait, what?" Gaston is already opening drawers and fishing through my things, throwing articles of clothing into the bag. "Get out of my things!" I roar, proceeding to grab Gaston's wrists and wrench them away from my drawers. "What the hell are you doing, you meddlesome twit!" I shove him away from me.

"Jesus Christ, Erik, can't you see that I'm helping you?" The man's breath is a little erratic from being shoved around.

"Invading my privacy," I say, throwing a dressing gown back in a drawer, "is not exactly helpful, thank you very much."

"Well standing around here isn't going to get you what you want either," Gaston replies coolly. "Look, Erik, I'm sorry I was so rude about Christine's departure. I know that she's in a great deal of danger, having been to Persia myself, if only for a little while. I cannot do anything to help her, Erik, but you can." He hands me a Swarovski-encrusted hairpin, one that looks oddly familiar. "You are her Angel of Music. Only you can bring her back."

"Where did this…" I start, realizing that it is the hairpin from the night Christine made her debut as the Prima Donna of the Opera Populaire.

"Antoinette and I had it reset for her wedding present but it fell from her hair when she fled the chapel. We found it in the snow when we went home." I close my hand around the hairpin, the pointed edges of the star-like decoration digging into my palm.

After a few long moments of contemplation, I say calmly, "What should I bring with me?"

**Later…**

Gaston and I hurry along the rain-soaked streets of Paris, slipping on the cobblestones. He has forewarned me that Antoinette must not know he aided me in trying to find Christine, that she would be livid. I've seen an angered Antoinette and I most certainly would not like to repeat that time.

I am led into the stables situated behind the van Ellsworth Mansion and Gaston proceeds to grab a stable hand and mutter something to him, then forcing some francs in his hand. The boy runs off down the aisle and Gaston returns to my side. "I gave him a little lie to tell Antoinette. That boy is the most trustworthy of the stable hands I know." I nod in approval, though Gaston seems rather unapologetic about lying to his wife about something of this significance.

The boy returns a little while later, scrambling down the aisle with a grand chestnut horse in tow. He breathes heavily as Gaston takes the reins from him. "Sir, your wife is awake and inspecting the stables. Move quickly!" With that, he runs back down the aisle of the stables and into the darkness. Long down the aisle I can see a glimmer of light, probably from a lantern carried by Antoinette.

"Get going!" Gaston whispers urgently as I mount the horse and attach my bag to the saddle. "Go!"

"Gaston van Ellsworth, what in God's name are you doing with Napoleon?" My heart sinks as Antoinette appears, clad in a dressing gown and nightdress and flanked by a servant girl, by her husband's side.

"Antoinette, I can…" Gaston starts, but I interrupt, rather rudely.

"He's helping me off to Persia, if you must know, Antoinette. I'd suggest that next time you not decide randomly to take a walk in the stables at dawn, if only to protect yourself from further revelations such as this." Antoinette casts a wicked glance at me, one I know all too well.

"Erik, if you so much as think you're going to get out of Paris alive I can assure you that…"

"Are you resorting to death threats, now?" I respond cruelly. "Really, Antoinette, see reason. I am an adult and I can make my own decisions. Now, if you'll excuse me." I kick the horse's sides, urging him to buck, and Antoinette lets out a terrified shriek, shrinking into the shadows with her servant girl. "Thank you kindly," I add as I kick the horse onward into the oncoming daylight of Paris.

**Christine**

My nights are restless, my dreams penetrated by the mere thought of where I am. It has been nearly four days since I arrived in Sardes with Indira and I'm already feeling the repercussions of my departure from Paris. In the mornings, I sometimes wake up to the moans and yells of the girls serving men in other parts of the harem and it makes me shake all over, goose bumps rising to my skin. This morning is no different.

Trying to ignore the shrieks of pleasure from the other girls, I rise from the bed and take a look at myself in the mirror. I am a mess and I know it. My hair is tousled and the purplish bags under my eyes I'd received during my travels here have only worsened. Letting out a tremendous sigh, I walk over to the wardrobe to fetch a dressing gown and then proceed to the door, hoping to wash up.

I open the door and am greeted by the face of Chandra. "Good morning, sweet!" She says cheerily, waltzing into my room completely uninvited. _She gave you her hospitality. The least you can do is allow her to do as she wishes with you every once in a while._ "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I respond kindly, closing the door. "What about you?"

"I'm a little on-edge," she admits, plopping herself down on my unmade bed. "See, the Shah is arriving this evening to spend the night and, as his first wife, I must make sure that all of the girls are…prepared, shall we say?" Chandra plays the silky fabric of her dress between her fingers. "Now, usually we don't have men on the day before my husband arrives, but the schedules overlapped, I'm afraid." She sighs, the fabric of her bodice ruffling as she exhales.

"Well, can't the Shah come another time?" I ask unknowingly.

"No, dear Christine, he cannot. True, it's a misfortune, but we have to work around it. That's why I'm here." Chandra pauses for the effect. "The girls who are serving today won't have the energy or the want to come to see my husband this evening. That is why I am not serving today." I've known since I've come here that Chandra, the Khanum, serves men too, but it's never really sunk in to me that she's married as well. This is what women sink to, even in a harem?

"But what's that got to do with me?" I ask again, sitting down beside Chandra on the bed.

"Christine, we all reach a time when the hospitality of others runs out and we have to earn our keep. Now, I'm not saying that I am rescinding all of the help we're giving you, seeing your situation in being a foreigner, but after a while we will no longer be able to support you in all of the lavishness we have been." I choke back the fear I'm longing to share with Chandra. _Let the woman speak, Christine. It's only proper._ "That's why I encourage…no, I highly recommend that you go to see the Shah with some of the other girls who aren't serving today. They will help you, Christine, and in time you will learn how to support yourself."

I bite my lip, swallowing the anxiety again. _She's not asking you to be a prostitute, Christine. She leaves that option open to you for the near future. Then you'll be able to leave this hellhole._ "Christine, is something wrong?" Chandra has noticed my uncertain looks.

"Well, it's just that I…" I stumble across the words before Chandra puts a finger to my lips to silence me.

"Do not fear new experiences, Christine. You have so much to offer the world if you would only try." Chandra takes my hands in her own, trying to soothe me, trying to suppress my burning feelings of nervosa. "Spread your wings, expand your horizons," she states poetically. "What could it hurt?"


	12. Arrivals

_Author's Note – _There is **mild, semi-graphic sexuality** in this chapter…read at your own risk. I don't take responsibility for younger readers who don't heed this warning. As well, I am **changing the rating to M**. The whole story is **not that graphic** but I can't risk getting in trouble for it. If it turns out that this is the only graphic chapter, **I may return the rating to T.** Thanks!

_**Chapter Eleven – Arrivals**_

_Persia – 1875_

**Christine**

Indira stands behind me looking rather cheerful as she arranges my hair in a most intricate fashion, adorning it with little gold baubles and blood red jewels that disappear in my chocolate curls but match my garments perfectly. The silken fabric cascades softly around the curves of my body, giving me a mysterious yet utterly feminine look. "If only you were serving, Christine," Indira says softly. "I'd love to see the look on men's faces when they see you!"

I've avoided talking directly about serving ever since my conversation with Indira when I'd first arrived at the harem for this very reason; now they think me fit to serve, if only after a few days here. "You think I'm that much of a sight to see?"

"Oh, my dear, you're more than just a sight to see. You're a starlet, a unique one at that." A smile creases Indira's face, her eyes lighting up. "There, you're finished." I look at my reflection in the mirror again as I pin a piece of sheer fabric over the lower half of my face, concealing all but the bridge of my nose and my eyes.

"Christine, are you coming?" Lalitha appears in the doorway, an emerald outfit only enhancing her naturally curvy form.

"I'm on my way, Lalitha. Where's Lakhi?" The girl lets out what sounds to be a snort.

"She was serving today." I shudder, again being reminded of where I am and what people do here. "Come on! The Khanum will be exceedingly angered if we don't get a move on!"

I embrace Indira and she whispers in my ear, "Make me proud, Risa." Shivers run up and down my spine as Indira lets me go, smiling and waving as if I'm leaving forever. Following Lalitha out the door of my room, I see many of the other girls staring at me, staring at me for my first appearance in front of any man, let alone the Shah.

Lalitha and I walk down the hallways of the harem, joined by other girls as we go. Finally, we come upon the spacious room in which I first met the Khanum. It is cleaner than usual, the pillows and chaise lounges all organized and much more regal-looking than they normally do. The lights are low, flickering candles casting a warm glow across the room, the ambiance very seducing but mellow.

In the corner in which I first laid eyes on Chandra sits a lavishly dressed man, the Khanum by his side. There are many courtesans already sitting on the floor, the jewels on their garments glittering in the soft candlelight. Surrounding the Khanum and her male partner are many mystics and sages, all staring admiringly at the women on the floor before them, their eyes showing longing for what they are not allowed or entitled to.

A hand, Lalitha's, grasps my own and pulls me down onto the floor in a sitting position like the others before us. The man beside Chandra stands and the room falls deafeningly silent. He starts to speak in a language I am unfamiliar with and my face distorts itself into a look of confusion. Lalitha senses my insecurity and smiles.

"That's the Shah. He's saying that it is his pleasure to visit us again this month, so on and so forth." Lalitha quiets as the Shah does. Chandra stands up beside him and whispers something in his ear. "I wonder what she…"

"My ladies, I am sorry," the Shah states, "I was unaware that we are not all familiar with the local language." He casts a wary eye on me. "We all understand English, I'm sure." There is a chorus of agreement from the girls. "Good, then." To my utter surprise, the Shah parts a path between the mass of women and comes to stand before me. "Miss Risa, I am told?" I nod, acknowledging myself as the woman he speaks of. Offering me his hand he says, "Welcome to my harem."

"I've been welcomed properly already, Sir," I reply courteously, as I come to my feet.

The Shah smiles. "My wife has informed me, of course." He casts a glance back at Chandra who grins flirtatiously back. "Now, Miss Risa," he says, walking back to Chandra, motioning for me to stay where I am, "What talents have you?"

"Dear, she has the voice of an angel," Chandra says seductively as the Shah seats himself beside her once again. "Let her sing for you." I gulp. Sing? I have not sung a word to anyone in years! I only ever sang in the harem in the confines of my room, and once two days ago when I was trying to cheer up some of the other girls who had to do busywork with me.

"Well, Risa? Won't you sing for me? I know you are of foreign origin, but I know well the music of the West. Sing. And none of that dull opera music. I want something exciting, something worth listening to." I take a deep breath. What music am I familiar with that will suffice for the Shah? Certainly nothing that my proper Parisian lifestyle would have prepared me for! And yet…

No! I cannot do that! What would Raoul, dear Raoul in heaven think of me? But I must! _Go on, Christine. Just sing it._ I clear my throat and begin. "_You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment when speech disappears into silence…silence…I have come here hardly knowing the reason why! In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided…decided…_

"_Past the point of no return, no going back now; our passion play has now at last begun! Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question; how long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?_

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold! The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! We've passed the point of no return…_" My voice soars across the notes, stumbling a bit on the words I've not heard in many-a-year. There is complete and utter silence for a few moments, but then the Shah speaks.

"It is opera," he states plainly.

"No, dear!" Chandra retorts. "It may be operatic but it is also erotic, and that is a winning combination." A little sneer crosses her face. "Tell me!" she says quickly to me, as if she'll forget if she waits moments longer. "Who is the composer?"

"I…I…" I stutter. _Think fast._ "I know not his name." Chandra chuckles.

"Really, Risa, you must know a name!" She laughs at me as if I am a dumb child. "Go on, tell me their name."

"He signed his work with only two initials; O and G." As Chandra and the Shah seem to contemplate this, I look at the many sages lined up along the walls beside the Shah and Khanum. One, a man who appears to be in his early thirties, is staring at me through almond eyes. I smile at him, a small grin but sweet. His face creases in a smile back at me. Then the Shah breaks the silence.

"Miss Risa, that will be enough for the evening, thank you. I have no further use for you at the moment. Reza!" The man who was staring at me turns abruptly to the Shah. "Take Miss Risa back to her quarters. Do not waste any time!"

"Yes, of course, High One," the man called Reza says, moving away from his counterparts and extending an arm to me. "Come, Miss Risa. I shall escort you to your quarters." I take his arm, the skin covered in layers of fine fabric, but I can feel the slight muscle within. It makes me smile, knowing that no weakling was sent to take me to my room, or do more, if the Shah meant for it. My mind buzzes again, wondering what was willed to pass between myself and this man Reza.

We exit the hall and enter the winding passageways in silence. "You have a beautiful voice, Miss Risa," Reza says kindly. "Her Lady the Khanum spoke truly."

"Thank you," I reply softly, trying to be humble, trying to sound happy.

"How did you learn to sing so beautifully?" he inquires of me. _Lie, Christine. It's okay. He'll never know._

"I was taught many years ago by a…friend of my deceased father's. But I haven't seen him in many years. We had a…falling out." _That's it, Christine. It's over._ "It was during my days as a dancer at the opera in Paris."

"Really?" Reza replies, intrigued. "My father has acquaintances in Paris. He hasn't been there, though. He wishes to go one day." I do not reply, attempting to remain in companionable silence with Reza, but he's quite a chatterbox. "Why aren't you in Paris anymore?"

A lump forms itself in my throat. "My husband passed away and this was the farthest away I could go." It's partly true…isn't it? Reza doesn't speak any longer, and I use to silence to contemplate my words; I _did_ want to go far away, but I fear that I've gone farther than I ever thought I would, and not necessarily in measurable distance.

**Erik**

It has been mere days and I'm already tired. The road to Persia hadn't seemed this long the last time I traveled here. The sun is harsh and I am exceedingly unprepared as it is still chilly in Paris.

_Turn back. You'll break your heart again._ "No!" I whisper into the dry, sandy air. "I must do this, if not for my own sake!" _You are her Angel of Music. Only you can bring her back._

**Christine**

I am woken up by a sharp rap on my door. I scramble out of bed and hurry to open it, finding Lakhi standing on the threshold. "Christine, the Khanum wishes to see you immediately! She says it's urgent."

I slip my tiny feet into some sandals and throw a small throw blanket around my shoulders in place of a dressing gown. Lakhi by my side, I hasten down the hallways and am directed into a lavish room, the private quarters of the Khanum. On the enormous mattress lies Chandra, and a smile crosses her face as I enter. "Many thanks, Lakhi. And you brought in quite the amount yesterday; I thank you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lakhi blush and exit the room. "Come here, Christine. That's a good girl." Chandra beckons for me to come to her side and I sit upon the edge of the mattress. "I would have come to see you but alas I spent the evening with my husband." Chandra says the words wistfully, looking around the room with lusty eyes. "Oh, why am I going on? I didn't bring you hear to discuss my husband!"

"Then why did you bring me here?" I ask her, a little put out over her determination to mention in some way or another lovemaking, service, whatever it's referred to as in this place.

"Well, Christine, I'm a little disappointed in you." My eyes go wide. Disappointment? Did she not tell me just yesterday that she expected nothing at all of me; what could I have done to get her disappointed? "You had a man escort you to your quarters last night and never did so much as touch him anywhere but the arm. Really, Christine, you could have declined the escort and saved yourself something like this on your record."

"I have a record?" I manage to stammer, angered with Chandra for accusing me of such a thing. "And where is it written that any and all male escorts must get laid…uh, served, sorry."

Chandra's eyes widen. "Use not such vile terms, Christine!"

"Why not, Chandra? Isn't that what this place is…" but I am cut short by a loud knocking on the door.

"Hello?" Chandra says sweetly. "Come in!" she adds, not bothering to discover the knocker's identity. The door opens and a man, probably in his mid-to-late thirties walks in, his face contorted into a wicked-looking smile that makes me shiver. I look him over, from his darker-skinned face down his silken robe-clad form to his long legs peeking out from the layer of fabric. "Hamir, what a pleasure it is to see you!" Chandra's voice rings out gaily as the man comes over to us and takes her hand.

"The honor is all my own, my Lady Khanum," the man, Hamir, replies, pressing his lips to her knuckles, reminding me forcefully of Paris. "And who is this?" he asks, his voice gentle, as he turns to me.

"This is Risa. She moved in with us last week." Hamir takes my hand in the same fashion as he took Chandra's. "Risa, this is Hamir."

"Good morning," I say to him as he lifts his lips from the back of my hand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Quite the proper young lady, are we?" Hamir jests, smiling at me.

"Don't be too harsh with her, Hamir. She's from the West." He nods to Chandra's words and they make eye contact. I cannot see well, but I know that there is some sort of communication.

"What is it you were eager upon telling me, my Lady Khanum?" Hamir asks Chandra. "You said it was urgent?"

"Yes, I did. But it may wait. Now is not the proper time, really. And I'm very worn out. Please, Hamir, if you will, escort Risa back to her quarters?" Chandra's use of simple code causes my body to stiffen. _Escort Risa back to her quarters._

"Of course, my Lady Khanum," Hamir replies softly, offering me his large, weather-beaten hand; what would that hand feel like on my body? _Stop, Christine. You have every right to turn him away at your door. You have no need for a "good" reputation here._ "Come, Risa."

I take his hand in my own and am led away, out of Chandra's room and towards my own. We reach the doorway and I state, "This room is mine."

As I reach my hand out to turn the knob, it is intercepted. "May I?" Hamir asks me, and I nod, my heart racing at least three times its normal rate. He opens the door, the gateway into my private quarters which, 'til now, have been free of any male contact, male contamination. "You've a lovely room, Risa."

"Thank you," I reply, not daring to move inside.

"Are you not going to go into your room?" I gulp, chuckling, trying to laugh it off, and walk inside. To my sheer horror, Hamir follows suit, closing the door behind him. It shuts with a snap, closing me in the room with this man who must be intent on ravaging me, taking me until I'm senseless. I am not ready. I am most certainly not ready, and not even because of the inevitable pain associated with my intact purity. My body is reserved for a husband, not for some man off the street who is friendly with the Khanum.

Neither Hamir nor I is speaking, and it scares me a little. It is silent, painfully so, and I fear that my shaking will be noticed; it is, for I suddenly feel arms come around me from my back, strong and warm arms. "You were shivering, Risa. Are you cold at all?" I cannot speak due to the lump forming in my throat, so I nod in agreement. "Would you like to lie down, Risa? Would that make you feel better?" Against my own better judgment, I nod again.

With that, Hamir lifts my slight form from the ground and plants my body on my low mattress. He sits himself down beside me, only sitting. _Please, God, let him just sit. Let him do no more than that._ Hamir moves to stroke my hair out of my face and I manage to say, "Thank you, Hamir."

"It is nothing to help a beautiful lady such as you, Risa," Hamir responds, his voice sounding very seductive. It would have made my knees weak if I were not so thoroughly frightened to the point of incapacitation. I close my eyes, willing it to end soon so I may not worry as much. "Risa, I do not mean to be forceful or forward, but would you do something for me?"

"What would you will me to do?" I ask, my voice shaking and cracking, but I try to hide it and am remotely successful.

"Risa, you may say no if you wish it, but I'd will it that you pleasure me." I bite my lip hard, and stop when I begin to worry that I'll break skin. "Now, I know that you're new…"

"P-p-pleasure you?" I ask nervously.

"It isn't that hard. I will direct you," he says with assuredness. If only I knew what I was doing and what I wanted. I know what I don't want, and that's to give myself over to a man. But pleasuring him…is that different? "Please, Risa, I beg of you. I will pay you generously." He thinks me a common harlot. He thinks I am here to earn a living, not to seek refuge. Sweet God in Heaven, what have I done to deserve this?

My face must not show my fear, because Hamir takes my hands in his and hauls me to a sitting position. He stands from the mattress so he is before me, his knees knocking against the edge. "Here," he states, leading my hands to the ties of his robe. "Untie it, if you will." I swallow hard, pulling the silken strings apart from one another so the robe opens slightly, lying softly against Hamir's form. It falls open just a little, enough to leave some to the imagination, but…

Good Lord. God Almighty, save me from this hell. At my eye level, about a foot before me is…I blush at the sight. His…manliness, shall I say, stands erect close enough for me to touch. But I would never…

Hamir shrugs the robe from his shoulders, the silk pooling at his feet. I am exposed to the rest of his body, the chiseled chest muscles, the long, hard legs, the firm arms. I have not the time to take in his features before his hands are on mine again. "Just do as I tell you, Risa, and you will learn what pleasures a man."

To my utter disbelief, Hamir takes my small, nimble hands and wraps the fingers about his...oh, God, I cannot even think to say it! But Good Lord is it not the most astoundingly odd-feeling object? It's like ice; smooth to the touch but solid, rock solid. "Yes, Risa," Hamir hisses. "That's right. Now move your hands a little…yes, that's it. Just keep doing that, just like you're doing." I follow Hamir's command, moving my hands about him, basking in the odd sensation brought on by the thing in my hands. I feel an unusual pang in my lower abdomen and I begin to feel…wet, wet in that most secret place.

Hamir groans and says through gritted teeth, "Now, Risa, take me in your mouth."

"In my what?" I ask, shuddering, but still stroking him. "Hamir, I…"

"Please, Risa," he says, his voice pained and persuasive and full of that tone that makes me feel guilty. Taking a deep breath, I remove my hands from him and replace them with my lips. A harsh intake of breath is heard from Hamir as he says, "That's right, take it all." I do not argue, not one bit. It is the most confusing feeling, knowing that he is receiving pleasure and me, none at all, but I feel…different. That dampness in my womanly place grows stronger and I fear I'll leave a stain on my garments.

As I continue to take Hamir in my mouth, his grunts grow louder and more pained. "Faster, Risa, please!" I speed up my sucks and kisses and licks, moving with efficiency like I've known how to do this "pleasuring" for my whole life. "Yes, Risa!" he cries.

My mouth is suddenly flooded with the most disgusting, corrosive liquid. It feels as though I will let it all back up all over Hamir, but the feeling changes. The salty-sweet of this liquid becomes pleasurable, its nasty taste almost good. "That's it, Risa. Swallow. Good girl," Hamir says, pulling himself from my mouth. "That's right."

Minutes later I am alone in my room, lying on the mattress. What have I done? I first feel shame but then…the gold coins on my sheets glitter in the light and I smile; that was not so bad. It really was not as disgusting and vile as I thought it to be. But that warm, wet sensation between my legs…what was it? And what was the liquid in my mouth?

**Erik**

I rap anxiously on the door of the Daroga's home. He is usually very prompt. Then again, maybe I should've sent a message forewarning him of my arrival. Finally, the lock flips and he appears in the doorway. "Let me in, Daroga."

"Who are…" I step out of the shadow of the doorway, the light reflecting off of the white porcelain of my mask. "Erik?"

"As I said, let me in. I can explain everything once I'm inside." The Daroga shakes his head but guides me into his home. He shows me into a little sitting room and I take a seat. "You are home alone, are you not?" The Daroga nods, his face still distorted in befuddlement.

"Erik, I haven't heard from you in years! Why now?" He sits in a chair beside my own, hunched over towards me to hear what I've to say. "What is this about?"

"Nadir," I say, my voice a little calmer as I emit his true name into the air around us, "you remember me writing you about that young chorus girl I wished to train, Christine Daaè?"

"Of course, Erik! But that was ages ago!"

"She's not so much a little girl anymore, Nadir. She's…changed. I can't explain everything now, but she's come to Persia and I fear that she's in great danger. I need to help her." I try to be as rational and serious as I can be, but the need within me to find her and have her with me grows with every word. If she were the kind of woman I could take like an animal, ravage until there was no more left, until the whole world turns to inky blackness, that would be what I feel for her now, but it is more subtle than that. She is an angel, not a lady of the night, a demon in disguise.


	13. Friendship and Revelations

_**Chapter Twelve – Friendship and Revelations**_

_My dear son,_

_It was wonderful to hear from you and how you have made many friendships in Sardes, but I look forward to your return. I am pleased that you've made some lady friends, Reza, not just those who are of equality with yourself; it's good for you._

_The world seems to be at a standstill here since you've been gone. There isn't someone to wake up with the birds every morning and make the house bright and cheerful; I'm starting to become increasingly bored. However, Erik Garnier (remember?) has arrived unexpectedly. I don't know he'll stay long enough for you to come back, as he's on the trail of that Christine Daaè he told us about, but he sends his well-wishes._

_Write as soon as you are able, son. I sound neurotic, I know, but I am first and foremost your father and it's my parental right to worry!_

_-Your Father_

**Christine**

_Persia 1875_

"What're you doing?" I ask Reza as I settle into a chair by his desk. In the last couple of months we've become very good friends, and, as it's my day to do as I please, I've stopped by his residence. He told me weeks ago to let myself in, so I did, only to find him writing at his desk.

"I'm writing to my father," he responds, looking up at me. His eyes go dangerously wide. "W-what is that you're wearing?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"What, you don't like it?" I reply coyly, rising from the chair to stand before him. True, it's a little…revealing, but nothing too bad.

"Risa, you've gone too far, dear. That is _not_ clothing. It's barely anything! How'd you get here without being forced against a wall?" I chuckle, almost a flirtatious giggle, but I know all too well that nothing of the sort is worth anything with Reza.

"Reza, really," I say, crouching down beside him, my hand on his knee to steady myself. "Nobody's going to touch me, save if they wish pain brought to them by the Shah." Reza nods apathetically, not very interested in me any longer as he busies himself once again with the letter. It is true, though; since the first night I met the Shah he's had me as a personal entertainer, singing and dancing at all of his gatherings, much to Chandra's delight. It is worthwhile for me, seeing as I've been extremely wary of the ways of the harem since…

I dare not speak of it, nor think of it. That day I was introduced to the ways a woman is to pleasure her lover I have not been the same. Maybe I'm freer, but maybe I'm more reserved, I don't know which. Either way, I've changed. I suppose I shouldn't have taken this outfit from Indira. "Reza, I'm a grown woman," I add to my prior sentiments. "I can handle myself."

Reza signs off on his letter as I speak and turns to face me in his chair, taking my hands in his and pulling me to a standing position. "Listen, Risa, and listen well," he says, solemnity and seriousness in his eyes and expressions. "Do not take this the wrong way, I beg of you." I nod in agreement. "I care about you Risa, really I do. I care for you and I love you as any friend would. You are taking good care of yourself, I know this, but I know also that there are some things you're not telling me. Risa, I trust you and it's time you trust me."

Oh God, there is so much he doesn't know! Not only does he not know about my experience with Hamir, but he also does not know who I am! I am, to him, the young Risa taken in by the Khanum, the artistic European virgin. He knows not that I am really Christine de...Daaè. Christine Daaè, yes, the former opera star haunted by the infamous…

_Stop, Christine. Just because you have a different life does not mean you can't keep your promises to the Holy Father. You've done well for a few years now; don't mess it up now!_ "Reza, I…"

"Please, Risa. I need to know." He squeezes my tiny hands in his own larger ones. "Tell me anything."

"Reza, I'm…not ready to tell you everything," I say, being completely honest. He looks a little let down at my refusal to say anything further, a frown creasing his face. "Don't look at me that way," I say soothingly, putting a hand to his cheek. "I promise to tell you when I'm ready. I swear it, Reza. And you have my permission to throw me over your knee and tan my backside if I don't." Reza scoffs.

"That's a little far, Risa," he says, kissing my forehead. "But if you do anything you shouldn't between now and whatever time that is, I may take you up on that offer." Would it be that I could avoid doing things I'd regret. If only life were so easy.

**Later…**

"Christine!" Indira runs into my room as I prepare myself for bed, out of breath and disheveled. "Christine, come quickly!"

"What's wrong?" I ask urgently, pinning my hair up at the back of my head, out of my eyes. "What's going on?"

"It's Reza," she replies, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the winding hallways of the harem. Reza? What could it be? I haven't seen him in two weeks, not since he asked me to reveal myself to him.

"Indira, what's going on?" I say breathily as she pulls me down more corridors. "What's happening with Reza?" Indira slows down and takes both of my hands in her own.

"Something's happened, Christine. I don't know what it was, but he's hurt. He'll be sent home on the morrow. He requested to see you," she finishes, her eyes sad and her face blank. I bite my lip. _Don't cry, Christine. Please don't cry._

"Take me to him." I hold my head high as Indira leads me into a little antechamber off of the main hall where they must have brought Reza. My breath hitches in my throat as I see him sprawled out on a little pallet, his chest heaving. There is a large wound on his arm and one across his leg, as well as many scratches along the large expanse of his chest, many people milling around him. "Reza!"

The gathered people jump at my shout and back away from Reza. "Leave him alone! Go on! I'll call you if I need you!" His eyes are closed, I can see, and I don't even know if he's aware I'm here, but the crowd disperses, leaving me alone with my injured friend. I hear the door click shut behind the group, and I run to Reza's bedside, sinking down beside him. "Reza," I say soothingly, brushing his dark hair from his brow. "Reza, talk to me."

A single tear winds its way down my cheek finding a path through the air onto Reza's shoulder. The fabric soaks the salty water up like a lifeline, and it leaves only a dark spot. "Risa, is that you?" Reza says, his voice quiet but strong and his eyes still closed tightly, shutting out the world.

"It's me, Reza, I'm here now. It's all right, everything will be fine," I say almost breathlessly, laying a gentle kiss on his forehead. "What happened to you?" I ask, running a finger down the strong line of his jaw.

"Street fight got out of hand," he responds shortly. "It was political, of course, and I was in the Shah's favor, but the ruffians out on the streets don't see it the same as I do."

"Oh, Reza," I whimper, pressing my face down next to his, his left cheek against my right. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Risa, really I will." I sense one of his large hands playing with a loose curl of my hair, twirling it about his fingers. What will I do with Reza gone? He's my only true friend, the only one with a seemingly normal life, not one of prostitution, not one of inner turmoil.

"Reza?" I say, my voice nearly a squeak. Why am I so nervous?

"What is it Risa?" Reza responds as I tilt my head up to look at him. His eyes are open, the gold in them a little duller than usual.

I try to speak but the shrill squeaks continue. "You told me that when I was ready I could tell you everything, right?" He nods and I bite down hard upon my lip. I can't do this! I just can't! _Say it, Christine. You can do it._ "Reza, I'm not who you think I am." Reza's eyes show his confusion. "I am not here by my own free will and my name is not Risa."

"What do you…" but I cut him off. I'm now on a high and I'm letting everything out while I can.

"My name is Christine Daaè."


	14. The Price of Intrigue

_**Chapter Thirteen – The Price of Intrigue**_

**Christine**

_Persia 1875_

"Risa! Come here!" The Shah calls to me and I run over to him, my bare feet making not a sound on the cool marble. I approach the Shah and notice the circle of wealthy-looking men surrounding him, causing my stomach to do flips. The closer I get, the more I can make out of the men's faces, and the more I make out of the men's faces the sicker I become; standing beside the Shah in a clear position of honor is none other than Hamir. As I walk up he shoots me a sly smile, scaring me half to death.

"Yes, my Lord?" I try to disguise the shakiness in my voice as I speak but it's quite a hard task. I've never felt that small, but in the company of these men, all much larger than myself, I feel tiny and intimidated.

"Allow me to introduce you to my Grand Vizier, Hamir." Hamir? Vizier to the Shah? Does he know? _God help me._ "He has informed me that you have not begun to serve officially in my harem." I blush profusely. Must he give me such a talking to in front of a group of men? "Now," he says slowly, "I am willing to give you a second chance, Risa, a chance to repay me for my hospitality though you do nothing to support us here. You are friendly with Indira?" I nod. "Answer me properly."

"I am friendly with her, Sir." I reply, my voice meek.

"You are aware, of course, that she is the ante-Khanum and is therefore second only to my wife. However, you are also aware that she is very ill today." Why must he talk to me like a dictator? He is telling me what I know and what I do not! I cannot imagine being married to him. Raoul would never…

My thoughts are cut short as the Shah continues. "Risa, any and all debts you owe to me will be repaid if you take over Indira's work today." I feel bile rising up into my mouth and I nearly gag in front of all of these men.

"T-t-take over her work?" I spit out on impulse.

"That's most certainly not a problem for you?" The Shah asks, though he states it more like another order. _Cover it up, Christine!_

"N-n-no, my Lord, of course not!" I stammer. "I'm…honored to take over the work of the ante-Khanum."

**Later…**

It is late at night and most of the harem has gone to rest, but I cannot. What I've done today makes me ill to the innermost depths of my being. Those men, all eight of them, excluding Hamir, came to me in succession, all vying for the services of a true harlot. They were all vying for the services of the ante-Khanum.

I walk over to the window of my room, small as it may be, and look out onto the courtyard of the Shah's palace. It is utterly serene, birds asleep on the exotic trees, basking in the coolness the stone offers. Sometimes I wish I were free of the confinements humans are subjected to, free of feeling as though I am a pawn in some bigger game to some divine power.

As if in a distant dream, I hear the door of my room creak open. _Just the wind_, I think, but I suddenly feel myself enveloped in a large pair of arms. "Risa, your skin is so cold," Hamir says, pressing his lips against my hair, burying his face in my tousled curls, and rubbing my arms with his hands. I shudder as his mouth moves to my neck, his weathered fingers moving aside the thin fabric of my nightdress to give himself more access to skin. A cry escapes my lips as he nips lightly at my flesh with his teeth. "You are exquisite, Risa," he purrs, his hands moving over my shoulders down my front to my chest.

"Stop, Hamir," I manage to say.

"Hmm?" he mumbles, his mouth practically fused to the skin of my neck.

"Hamir," I say, wriggling away from his grasp, "I can't do this right now. I need to rest." He sighs tremendously, making me feel a little bit guilty for shoving him away like I did.

"Are you still hung up over that man Reza's departure yesterday? He wasn't good for you, Risa," he states plainly, his voice tinged with hurt.

"How do you know what's good for me and what isn't?" I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest like a defiant child.

In an instant Hamir shoves me up against the wall of my room by the window, pressing me flat against the hard stone, pinning me down. He lowers his face so his lips are right by my ear. "Don't forget this, Risa," he murmurs slyly. "Never forget that I am the one who introduced you to the ways of this harem. You enjoyed your day did you not?" I say nothing, though I know that, however much I am loathed to admit it, I basked in the pleasure I was giving to Indira's men. It put me on such a natural high that I could've floated. But never will I admit to that.

When I do not respond, Hamir presses his lips to mine in a bruising kiss, one destined to leave a mark, if not on my skin but on my very soul. Though I am still pure in body, I am not pure in mind; this will forever be the day that Christine Daaè fell to the great power that is erotic love.

**Erik**

I sit alone at the table in the Daroga's home poring over a map he's given me of Persian land, my hand around a glass of strong liquor. My eyes are strained from hours of searching on the map, the writing so tiny I can barely make out any of it. In my distress, I slam the glass of liquor down hard on the table, sloshing the dark liquid all over the map. "Fuck," I stammer, for my voice has barely been used since I've gotten here, my throat tight from its disuse.

_God, I shouldn't have followed her._ I don't consider myself a religious man by any means, but I find myself clasping my hands together, bowing my head and praying. "Dear Lord," I whisper into the silence, "send me a sign. Tell me why I am here. Lord, I beg you. Is it Your divine will that I end up where I am? Why did You put me on this Earth if I was destined for the failure I've received? Give me a reason to keep going, Lord. Send me a sign." I pause, ready to end my prayer, but I think twice. "And Lord, protect Christine. See that she is well and safe and cared for. I am putting my Angel in Your hands, Lord. Watch over…"

My praying is cut short by a sharp rap on the door. I unfold my hands and step up from the table, making sure my mask is in place, and hurry to answer. I open the door only to find a young man with a splinted leg leaning against the doorframe on the opposite side of the threshold step from me. "Who the hell…"

"Erik Garnier?" the man says, standing upright. "Is that really you?" Reza.

"Reza," I say, my voice calmer though still raspy, as I take his hand and shake it, "I thought you were in Sardes."

"I was," the Daroga's son responds, motioning to his splinted leg as I beckon for him to come inside. "Listen, Erik, where's my father at?"

"I'm not sure," I reply, shutting the door with a snap. "He just said he was going out for the day and since I had business I stayed here." Reza stops dead in his tracks as though he is having some revelation. "Reza? Is something the matter?" I watch as his eyes travel to his father's map, my liquor spilled all over it. "I was trying to clean it up…" I start, stupidly assuming that he is angry over the map's state of ruin.

"I know where Christine is." I stare blankly at Reza for a moment, waiting for the words to settle in. Before I can respond, however, the door bursts open, revealing the Daroga.

"Reza, m'boy! What are you doing home? I thought you were in Sardes for another few months!" The Daroga embraces his son.

"I hurt my leg, Father, that's all," Reza replies. "The men I was working for insisted I go home early."

"And they were damn right," the Daroga says firmly, his eyes falling on his son's splinted leg. "You're better off here." He diverts his attentions away from his son to look upon me. "Erik, how's the search going?"

"Not well," I reply coolly. "Your damn map is all but unreadable. How's anyone supposed to find anything with this?" I say, motioning to the map.

The Daroga makes his way over to where I was sitting before and lifts the sodden map from the table. "Nobody's going to be able to find anything with liquor all over the map," he says, his voice tinted with sarcasm, "let alone a dainty thing like you say this girl is." I catch Reza's eye as his father is busy trying to wring out the map and he nods.

"Father?" Reza starts as the Daroga shakes his head and plops the soggy map down on the table again, his efforts having proved useless.

"Yes, Reza?" he replies, going over to a small cupboard to pour himself a glass of liquor.

"I was just talking to Erik and I think…nay, I _know_ where Christine is." The Daroga, who was busy taking a swig out of his glass, chokes on the drink.

"What?" he sputters. "That's impossible! Where…"

"Let me finish," the young man states. "Christine is in Sardes. Don't worry," he assures me quickly, "she's quite safe, though I don't know how long that'll last."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know how long?'" I exclaim angrily. "This is a Parisian young lady we're talking about! Anyone could hurt her if given the chance!"

"Erik, she's in good hands, at least where safety is concerned," Reza says. "I don't want to hurt you with this, Erik, nor do I wish to make you worry, but…" he trails off. I make a motion with my hand, telling him wordlessly to keep going. I need to know where she is. I need to find her. My former infatuation with her is beginning to become my life again. "Erik, she's in the Shah's harem at Sardes and is the charge of the Khanum herself."

If I'd eaten anything in the last few days I swear I would've been sick. Even now the liquor is threatening to come back up. "The Khanum herself?" I manage to say. "She's living in the harem under the wing of the Khanum?" Reza nods.

"She personally entertains the Shah…"

"EXCUSE ME?" I bellow. "She _entertains_…"

"She sings for him, God damn it!" Reza replies. "What did you think I meant?" The boy blushes slightly and I feel myself going hot as well. Christine would never do that, I've assured myself of that. Not my Angel. The three of us stand in silence for a few moments before I speak again.

"Tell me how to find her."


	15. Masked Faces

_Warning - attempted rape/violence_

_**Chapter Fourteen – Masked Faces**_

_Persia 1875_

**Erik**

The fierce wind bites at my unmasked cheek as I trek on towards Sardes. I know that I'm only a few hours out of the city, so I think, but it is mid-night and much too chilly. Glad I brought my cape with me, I wrap it around myself, trying hard to secure some scrap of warmth for myself.

Through the bitter winds and gusts of sand I can see lights glimmering in the distance, almost like a divine apparition. It is merely a glow, but I can make out the outlines of a palace in the shadows. The sight is welcome to my tired, sore body and I do not think twice about it possibly being a mirage.

My pace hastens. It is a mere five miles from where I stand, and I could reach this place by two hours hence if I go swiftly. My muscles say otherwise, aching for rest. _You are her Angel of Music. Only you can bring her back._ Gaston's words echo in my mind and spread throughout my body like a wildfire. The Lady Fate awaits me. Who am I to deny her?

**Later…**

As I walk through the gates of the city, I see that it is bursting with nightlife. Street urchins scuttle along the walls of buildings; couples make love in the side-streets, screaming for release. Beggars pull at the pants of men walking home, pleading with them for a single coin, a glimmer of hope. This is where my Angel is?

I make my way slowly down the main street and feel many pairs of eyes on me as I go. _Who is that face in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask?_ Up ahead I catch sight of what looks to be a tavern or bar, at least the Persian equivalent, and I hurry. God, if I've ever needed a good hard drink, it's now.

Upon stepping into the bar, I feel my heart seize. Christine spends her days in this city…with _these _men? "Sir?" A little Persian lad, maybe ten or twelve years at most, has come up beside me. I look down upon him and notice that I must be at least twice his height. "Sir, you're blocking the door."

Without uttering a word, I move aside and let the little boy scamper out into the night. What parent would let their child run amuck in a city such as this? Have they no common sense? I am worried for Christine, who is just past twenty years, and she is not even my child. Then again, I've never truly been at ease regarding her safety and wellbeing.

I make my way over to the bar counter and sit down upon a vacant stool. To my left, there are a group of men conversing, all of whom look to be of a higher class. Their speech is muffled, but I can make out a few words. "You say that was only her second day? Her first? But she was just as good…"

"Sir? Sir?" I look up and see a man across the counter staring me down. "Sir, what drink can I get for you?"

There is no need to ponder. "A glass of the hardest liquor you have. And make it quick." The man goes to fetch my drink and I focus my attentions once again on the group of men.

"What was her name again?" One of the men asks, his voice slurred and thick.

"Rhea?" One drunken voice.

"Rosie?" Another.

"Risa!" one man shouts and they all drink in agreement. Their actions, however inhumane and disgusting they may seem, draw me in and remind me that I have not had a woman since…well, I have not had a woman. And that name…didn't Reza mention it to me?

"Excuse me," I say to the drunks as my own drink arrives. It takes them a moment to respond and I use it to down half of my liquor. The men turn around to face me and I continue, "What is it you're speaking of?"

"Take it you're new in town?" one of the men, the one with the most regal-looking clothes on, says to me. I nod and he extends his hand. "I'm Hamir, the Grand Vizier to the Shah. And you are?"

"Nobody of consequence," I reply curtly, shaking the man's hand.

"Well, we were discussing the new girl the Khanum's brought to work in her harem. A damn pretty little thing, too." Hamir pauses. "Out of curiosity, what brought you into our conversation?" he takes another swig of his drink.

"I heard you discussing women and, as I'm from out of town…" Hamir cuts me off.

"Say no more, Sir!" Hamir stands up and walks over to me. "You know where the palace is?"

"Well, enough," I respond, intent on hearing what he has to say.

"All right then, go to the palace but go to the right and you'll find a different doorway. Go through it and you'll be in the harem. Make sure you request Miss Risa to be your…" But I am already off.

**Christine**

"Christine!" Lalitha runs into my room, breathing heavily. I am thoroughly surprised that she recognizes me through my layers of makeup and with my provocative garments. "Christine, there's a man here to see you."

"Lalitha," I reply in a near-whine, "I was finished for the day half to an hour ago!" It being my first day of officially serving in the harem I am not yet accustomed to after-hours visitors. They are not common but they are not at all unlikely.

"Christine, this is different! The man is fully and wholly desperate!" She runs over to me and kneels beside my chair, her hand on my knee. "He's offering to pay you all he has."

Disgust courses through my veins. "Lalitha, men should know better than to come to me for this! That's more of a job for Indira! I am not giving up…"

"You don't _have_ to give anything up, don't you see?" Her excitement threatens to boil over and explode into the air. "He'll give you anything for just a simple service, nothing special. Milk it for all it's worth, Christine." I look at her skeptically. "Please, Christine. This one night, don't be Christine who always does right even if she's serving men. Be Risa of the harem who knows how to seduce a man into anything." I gulp and stare at Lalitha. _It's one night, Christine. What's it going to do to you? Nothing, so long as you call the shots._

"I'll do it."

**Later…**

I am pinning a last curl up into my hair when there is a sharp rap on the door. As I open it, I see Lalitha once again. "Miss Risa, I present to you Sir…"

"Sir Garnier will do just fine, thank you," a dark figure from behind Lalitha responds in an overpowering but not exceptionally deep voice. Lalitha nods to me, then to Garnier, and departs. We stand in awkward silence, the shadow man and me, for a few long moments.

"Would you...like to come in?" I question him and he obliges, walking right past me into the room, his head bowed. Gently I shut the door and turn around to face the large, masculine presence in my room. I nearly fall dead in a faint.

The shadow man, this Sir Garnier, has divested himself of his had and cape giving me an all-too-perfect view of a familiar body and a starkly white mask. _He does not exist, Christine. You do not know this man._ I cannot tell if he recognizes me or not, though I doubt he does; who would recognize me in my current state?

"Sir Garnier, I hope you've been informed that…" In one swift motion, the shadow man has stepped across the floor, taken my wrists and pinned me to one of the cold stone walls.

**Erik**

As the harem girl departs I can see the outline of my Angel in the shadowy doorway, her filmy garment hanging loosely but provocatively on her dancer's body. _Just as I remember her._ "Would you…like to come in?" she asks me, and I sweep past her into the room, never once moving my head to reveal my face. That can wait.

She stands timidly by the door, taking her time in closing it, and I remove my hat and cape at last. If she will see me it might as well be sooner. As Christine turns around I see her face go violently red even through the layers of horrendous makeup she is wearing. _My Angel!_ I cannot bring myself to believe that this is, in fact, Christine, dressed as scantily as she is, hiding her true beauty with makeup and fabric. _Who has done this to you? What have you done?_ My anger builds within me as her face contorts in fright at the sight of me standing before her. Maybe she thinks I do not recognize her, and it would not surprise me if I did not. _My Angel must be disciplined_. "Sir Garnier, I hope you've been informed that…"

My rage boils over. I grab her thin wrists and throw her against a wall, pinning her down by her arms. Her eyes go wide in terror, and she has every right to feel that way if I go through with what I wish to do to her, give to her what she deserves for becoming such a tramp. I do not kiss her lips, for that is a sign of passion. Rather, I press hot, rough kisses along the exposed skin of her neck. Christine squirms against the wall and I press harder with my arms. "Believe me, Miss Risa, you will be paid well for your services this night."

"Stop," she whimpers as I force her arms above her head and hold her wrists against the wall with one of my hands. "Please!" I do not heed her pleas as I use my free hand to rip away her skirts. There is no need to lavish her, only to ravage. Throwing the ruined fabric away I move my hand down to her womanhood.

"For one night, Risa, let a man give you pleasure," I say, trying to sound like I am not intent on punishing her, that I am just a sex monger off of the street.

"No!" she shrieks, nearly deafening me. "'One night' nothing! I am not going to change who I am for…" I slap her harshly across the face.

"Where I am from, Miss Risa, women do not speak out of turn." Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open in shock and horror. It serves her right. My fingers play around and find her most womanly place…dry. Dry as ever I'm sure it was.

I do not consider myself to be an expert in women or sexual relationships, but I do know some things, and one of them is a woman's reaction to a man. They are most certainly not as dry as Christine is now, crying and shaking beneath my iron grip. Her eyes are shut tight and her body is rigid but quaking. "Just do it," she cries. "If you're going to have me, just get it over with."

Her pleas bring fresh thoughts to me, thoughts having nothing to do with punishment or revenge. These thoughts are…pity. God, to think I've never felt this before! I was always its target! Now, as I stare down at Christine, a shriveled shadow of the rose she used to be, I cannot bring myself to touch her, let alone deflower her.

In my fright to go through with my actions, I step away abruptly and Christine collapses in a pile on the floor of the room. As I go to get my cape and hat, I fish around in my cape for some money. Throwing it on the floor at her feet I stammer to her, "Take it. Buy yourself something nice." I stride towards the door, then find my fingers, still in my cape's inner pocket, are touching something soft. I draw the material out of the folds of fabric and find it is a rose, a little limp, but beautiful. Tossing it on the floor before Christine, I take my leave.

I shut the door behind me and run, run as I've never run before. What was I about to do to her? This is no way to discipline her! The poor thing, not knowing right from wrong any more! Out on the streets again, I find myself another bar and I walk into it, mumbling something to the bartender about hard liquor. When he brings it to me, I catch my reflection in the liquid. _The mask…_am I really still the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera? Maybe I am, even with my newfound sense of pity for others. Then again, I am certainly no angel.


	16. Whispers in the Night

_Warning – semi-graphic sexuality_

_**Chapter Fifteen – Whispers in the Night**_

_Persia 1875_

**Christine**

Indira comes racing into my room at my cries, her dark hair swept about from running, her breath coming in pants. "Christine!" she shouts, falling to the ground beside me, crushing my tiny, half-naked form against hers. She whispers soft sounds into my hair, quieting me, calming me. But I can't be calm.

I hear her gasp as she eyes the money on the floor of my room, along with the rose. Pulling me closer to her, she murmurs, "Oh, Christine." Then she yells out, "Chandra! Chandra!"

A few moments go by before the Khanum appears at my doorway, Lalitha and Lakhi behind her. "Indira, you're going to wake up the whole of Sardes! What the hell is…" She finally catches sight of Indira cradling me on the floor and I can tell she's tensing up. "What's happened?"

"Christine," Indira coos, her voice soft yet sultry as always, "who was he?" I sniffle, unable to say anything. I can't put him at the mercy of the Shah if Chandra knows who he is. _He doesn't exist. He is just another man._

"I need to know, Christine," Chandra adds. "We will find him and he will be severely punished for what he's done to you," she continues, eyeing the bruises on my wrists and face. "Please, Christine. Tell me who it was."

"I…can't," I whimper helplessly, taking a fetal position against Indira's friendly but anxious embrace.

"Why not?" Chandra interjects, her voice suddenly harsh. "If he is merely trying to use our girls for subjects of rape then we will have to see an end…"

"I just can't tell you!" I yell at her, my voice rising to a louder caliber than I thought myself capable of, and it cracks over the words. "I can't!" I say, softly again.

"Do you know him? Is that why?" Indira asks gently, running her hand down my hair and shushing me like a child. _I don't know him. He doesn't exist. I don't know him_.

"I don't know him," I manage to stutter. "I'm sorry." I can sense Indira and Chandra looking at one another, contemplating a course of action wordlessly. _I do not know that man._ "Indira?" I yelp.

"What is it, child?" she asks me, sounding surprised as I'm sure she is.

"He said his name was…Garnier. That's all I heard." Indira and Chandra converse in some native tongue I do not yet understand, though I have been here for a long enough time. I hear Chandra depart from the room and Indira continues to calm me.

"We will find him, Christine. We will find him and he will be punished."

**Chandra**

I walk hastily down the corridors of the harem and into the palace, winding my way through the halls I know well and have known for years, since I was as young as the youngest girls who live with us, barely into womanhood. Reaching my destination, I open the door without hesitation; there are benefits to my position.

My husband lies nearly asleep on his luscious bed, either side of his mattress flanked by towering bookcases of everything from stories of religion to the Kama Sutra. It has always intrigued me that men long to know more about things like those depicted in that particular work, while women take to it…naturally, as I have done.

The jingling of the little bells on my ankles have awoken my husband, and he sits himself up, bleary eyed. "My wife, what brings you here at this hour?" He is already questioning me; I must put an end to this. Pity for him that he has never been schooled in the art of seduction as I have.

Not bothering to answer the question, I crawl up onto the massive bed and set myself on hands and knees, looking more like a preying lioness to the onlooker. I sway my barely-covered hips as I move seductively across the silken bedspread, watching my husband's face as I do so; I see how he shivers and how his breath hitches in his throat and it makes me smile.

"Chandra," he says breathlessly, though I have not touched him yet, whispering my name like a sensual prayer onto the night. It spurs me on, and I crawl up over his legs, concealed by layers of silken sheets, and place my hands on either side of his body at the edge of the bedspread.

Leaning forward, I press my lips hotly against his own, nearly biting his lips in my haste to have him seduced. He moans into my mouth, and I return the favor as I pry his lips apart with my tongue and engage him in battle between both of our mouths, tongues lashing out at one another. Then I pull away, enticing him just enough.

Gently I pull the silky covers away from his heated form, taking the time to run my fingertips across his legs as I do so, constituting quite a moan from my husband, urging me to continue. I crawl back up to his level, still on all-fours above him, and lower myself onto him, resting my legs on either side of his waist, positioning my pelvis right on his so his desire presses up against my own.

This time, he not only moans but grunts, sounding almost animalistic, and tries to flip me over. But I'm a strong little thing, and I pin him down by his shoulders, laying my body from the torso up right against his and grinding my pelvis against his, eliciting a moan myself. Maybe I'm losing my ability to seduce without being seduced myself.

In slow, almost painful movements, I move my fingertips across his bare chest and to the lacings on his pants, untying them one by one until I have his manhood in my hands. My husband yowls with pleasure and I press a hand fiercely over his mouth and make a shushing sound. He moves his hands to my garments, trying to undo them, but I am faster and slide myself down his body until I'm resting at his feet, my hands still wrapped around his length.

Lowering my head to his waistline, I begin to kiss and lick at him, and he emits quieter but darkly sexual groans and whines. I continue my ministrations with my mouth while removing the fabric from my lower body. As my husband comes dangerously close to the ultimate pleasure, I pull away and crawl up to him again, kissing him harshly but sensually.

"One of my girls was raped, my dear," I murmur into his mouth. "I want the man found and killed," I state plainly as we lavish one another's lips. I can feel in the little jerks of his body how much he wants me, and who am I to deprive the Shah?

"What is his name?" he asks breathlessly as I move my body to be positioned above him. When I refuse to make any further advances, he nearly yells, "For the love of humanity, tell me the name!"

As I lower myself onto him, I hiss, "Garnier."

**Christine**

I lie awake, unable to sleep though the night is perfect. No matter how hard I try, I can no longer convince myself of what I had formerly made myself believe. For years I have pretended, hidden behind the façade of religion, that what I longed to believe was just an illusion. It is not an illusion any longer.

_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera…_

Standing abruptly, I walk to the bureau and light a candle, holding it out at the mirror to look upon myself. I cleaned the makeup from my face but an ugly bruise is forming on my cheek from where…_he_ struck me. Struck me! He would never…but he did once before, when I was dancing…

No! I mustn't think about _that_ time any longer. I may be breaking my covenant with the Holy Father but I will not go as far as to think on that time. But what a time it was. Then I met Raoul and…

I watch in the mirror as tears form in the corners of my eyes and plummet down my cheeks in silent rivers of sorrow. It's amazing how so much can go wrong in so short a time. Six months ago I was living the lavish life of le Vicomtesse de Chagny. Now I am a prostitute in the Shah's harem.

_Christine, you are not a prostitute!_ I am finding that I cannot even convince myself of anything any more. It's like I'm falling into this never-ending whirlpool, and the more I try to get out, the faster I fall. I thought I could get out of this place by winning the Shah's favor, which I did, but he bestowed me with the task of pleasing men. I thought it was possible that I could get away with pleasuring the man I once trusted with my life without him knowing it was me, and I don't know that he did, but I only got myself hurt. How much farther will I fall until I reach rock bottom?

"Raoul?" I cry hoarsely, knowing he won't hear me. "Raoul, please come back! I need you, Raoul! Come back to me! Give me your love again, Raoul, and I will not be unfaithful! I will be completely faithful in mind and in spirit! Raoul, come back to me! I love you!" One of my tears douses the tiny flame of the candle, but it doesn't matter. Everything is darkness anyway.


	17. To Find a Ghost

_**Chapter Sixteen – To Find a Ghost**_

**Antoinette**

_Paris 1875_

"Antoinette, really! It's been more than two months since he left! Stop fussing over it!" I sit at the table in our parlor, my head in my hands. It's too much. I have tried for the last few months to forget the fact that a young woman I consider my daughter is doing God knows what in Persia and is followed by a man who doesn't know what's good for him…it really is too much for me. Then again, how can I not?

I do not consider it my own fault that Christine and Erik are both gone. Quite the contrary, I tried to stop them both, though to no avail. The stubborn ballet mistress will never leave me. "Antoinette," Gaston says more calmly, "there is nothing left for us to do." My husband takes my hands and holds them tightly. "They are adults, Antoinette, and they must make their own choices. What happens now is between them and God." I bury my face in Gaston's shoulder, crying like a small child. My tears don't cease when we hear a knock at the door.

Gaston gets up from my side and hurries to the door as I dry my eyes. There is some scuffle in the hallway about it being the butler's job to open the door, but it sounds as though my husband prevails. My ears are met with the jovial lovely sounds of my daughter's voice. "Mama!" she shouts, running to me before she is even fully on the threshold of the parlor. I embrace her tightly and kiss both of her cheeks while Gaston greets the Marquis.

When Christine ran out on her supposed wedding to the Marquis of Luxembourg, leaving Meg in her stead, it was discovered that the Marquis had no real interest in the widowed Vicomtesse de Chagny before they were betrothed. And so he and Meg were married. Now, I look upon my daughter, the Marchioness of Luxembourg, and I am temporarily glad that Christine was not in her place. "Mama, Charlie and I have the most wonderful news!" It makes me chuckle how she's taken to calling her husband, Charlemagne, Charlie.

"Well, Meg, tell me!" My daughter takes my hands in her own and they are shaking.

"Mama, I've only just found out; I am expecting!" Meg's twinkling blue eyes sparkle with a fire I haven't seen in her in a long time.

"Oh,_ bébé_, that is wonderful!" I hug her tightly and feel her kiss my cheeks profusely. "My daughter, a mother! I am so happy for you, my little Marguerite." But somehow I cannot be happy. Somehow I feel like my heart does not lie in my daughter's womb but somewhere else, somewhere much farther away and yet so much closer to home.

**Chandra**

"I have found him, Chandra." I stand from my chaise as my husband enters the room in a flash of color. He walks to me immediately and takes my hands, though in public he would never touch me outside of duty. In private, however, he relishes the fact that I am a romantic and sensual woman.

"You have his whereabouts, I assume?" He nods. "Indira!" I call, knowing full well that the ante-Khanum is standing just beyond the threshold into my room. She hurries to my side and bows politely to my husband.

"What is it you ask of me, my lady?"

"It is all too simple, Indira," I begin. "This man, this Sir Garnier, has been found and he will be severely punished for what he tried to do to Chri….Risa." I catch myself nearly using the girl's real name and not her assumed one. Indira nods. "Indira, men are powerful but they are also incredibly weak. Men will stand up for what is right but they will fall at trivialities. We need to find Garnier's weakness and twist it for our own purposes." Indira nods.

"But how?" she asks. "He's terrifying, Chandra! Did you not see him? He's like a ghost!"

"Then we will just have to be unafraid." I pause for a moment and look to my husband, who nods. "Indira, I want him in your bed by two evenings hence. Seduce him, treat him lavishly, give him whatever he asks for. I will come for him once you have had him. He will be sorry he ever hurt my girls."

**Erik**

The little inn I am staying in can be described as one of many things, ranging from seedy to crap hole. All of them, however, describe my nearly indescribable mood. Still reeling over my actions towards Christine, I dragged myself into a bar and drank as if the liquor could fill the gaping wounds in my heart; I ended up drunk and hurt.

Maybe it wasn't worth it for me to try and find her. Granted, I had good intention to start with, but to think of what I've become in my anger…

I rise from the small, insect infested bed and walk over to the wash basin full of murky water below a cracked and dirty mirror. Not bothering to look at myself, I pull the mask from my face and dip it into the nearly opaque liquid for a few seconds, rubbing my fingers across the porcelain to get any grime off of it. I pull it out from the water and dry it off on my pants only to find that it's been tainted by the mud in the water.

Cursing the poor living conditions, I replace the mask on my face and pick up the little purse of money I was given by the Daroga. There is quite a sum inside, at least compared to the rest of the city's inhabitants, and I will get along for quite some time if I spend wisely. As I finger the coins in my hands, there is an annoyed knock at the door.

I walk to it and open the creaking wood only to find a somewhat familiar young woman, maybe ten years older than Christine, and two guards. I must look like quite the sight with my sweaty shirt hanging open and a mud-stained mask on my face. "Excuse me, is Sir Garnier here?" the girl asks me.

"You're looking at him," I reply, almost sarcastically. "What is it you want?"

The girl gulps, either out of fear or something else. "You are requested at the palace. You may follow me."

"Who has asked me to come?" I inquire of her, a little uneasy.

"It is a personal request of the Shah, sir. I suggest you heed it," the girl says, her golden eyes boring into me and I'm certain for the first time in my life that somebody can see right through me.

**Christine**

"Christine?" Chandra's voice travels through the wood of the door to me as I lie on the bed. "Christine, I've brought you your tea." Chandra has brought me my tea? Every evening one of the younger girls brings me tea to put me to bed, and at first I did not enjoy it, but the exotic drink has grown on me. However, it is unusual that the Khanum would bring bedtime tea herself.

"Come in," I respond and Chandra opens the door, coming inside with a little tray and sits on the edge of my bed. "Thank you," I say, taking the teacup almost greedily and taking a sip. The tea burns its way down my mouth and throat but it is a nice feeling now that I'm used to it.

"How are you feeling, Christine?" Chandra asks as I drink down the lasts of my tea. To tell the truth, I'm feeling slightly woozy already from the tea; the exotic spices don't work well and never have with my European body. "Mentally, of course," she adds, sensing my discomfort.

"I'm fine," I reply dully.

"Well," she begins, "I am about to make your day much better." She pauses for the effect. "We have found the man who made an attempt at you." I nearly choke on my tea, surprised at Chandra.

"Y-y-you f-found him?" She nods, and I feel very faint. Nobody could catch the..._him_. Nobody, not even dozens of armed guards. And the Shah and Khanum have? This is inconceivable! My feelings of dizziness and nausea come over me and I feel myself fall backwards onto the mattress, the remnants of my tea dripping over the blankets.


	18. Do One's Duty

_**Chapter Seventeen – And Thou Shalt Do One's Duty**_

_Persia 1875_

I sit in a small antechamber, waiting for the Shah to arrive. The girl, the one who fetched me from my room at that inn, has departed for some other part of the harem and has told me to wait for him. So I have.

It is so painful to be sitting here, knowing Christine is nearby, knowing that she is close enough to call. Like those torturous months before the Bal Masque and waiting in the shadows before _Don Juan_, it nearly hurts me not to be able to be with her, even though I am close enough.

There is a scuffling noise outside the door and I rise, anticipating the presence of whoever is playing the host to my guest. In walks an elaborately dressed man, flanked by guards, and the girl who brought me to the palace, her head bowed. The man, who I am certain is the Shah, stands before me and I bow courteously to him. "Stand," he orders, very curt and unfriendly.

I stand up to him full height, which is considerable, and look down the few inches into the Shah's eyes as he searches me for any signs of a threat. If only he knew. "I hear that you attempted to have one of our girls against her will."

"It was hardly against her will, milord," I lie sharply.

"Silence!" the smaller man screams at me, but it does not phase me. If he were more…rotund, he would remind me forcibly of dear Piangi. Then again, nothing is left to compare to, but that is another story entirely. "I do not want to hear you speak!" he snaps. "Indira!" He shouts, and the girl comes forward, bowing before her ruler. "Take this man to his rooms until he is ready to comply. Only then shall he be let out."

**Later…**

The girl, Indira, leads me to my rooms, walking with a regal air about her, and I cannot help but think that she would be a wonderful ballerina at the opera, or even a Prima Donna, should her voice be worthy. But there is only one Prima Donna, and I know that she is out there, closer than I care to think of.

We walk down the mazes of corridors in the harem until Indira stops outside a large door and opens it, welcoming me into it. I walk cautiously past her into the large room and turn around to see if she will accompany me inside or stay out; I hope the latter. However, no sooner have I turned than I find her body up against mine, her lips upon my own.

She is not new to this, that is clear. Her tongue expertly pries my lips apart and shoves itself between them, mingling with my own in my mouth. I do not claim to have experience in these more romantic arts, and I find myself, for the first time in years, scared out of my wits. This girl has intentions, but I do not desire to wait around and find out.

As I try to push her away, she throws her weight against me, propelling me back, my knees buckling against the side of a low-lying bed and landing me on my back on the mattress. I feel surprisingly helpless, trying to ward off her attempts at seduction but having my much greater physical strength thwarted.

Indira straddles my waist and begins untying the laces on my white poet's shirt. _God above, let her stop_. She lowers her face beside mine and murmurs sensually in my ear, "I am the ante-Khanum, sir, and you are quite honored to have me." Her tongue lashes out and traces itself along my jaw from just below my ear down to my chin and then up into my mouth, nearly choking me.

I know more about sexuality than I have experience with and am aware that what I am feeling is not arousal or lust; it's fear. If they could see me now, the Opera Ghost humbled at the feet of a harlot! Sensing Indira's hands at the waist of my pants, fumbling to pull the shirt loose, another wave of emotion falls over me; this is not what should be happening.

In one swift move, I gather my strength and throw her down on the mattress, raising myself up. Before she can do anything, I grab her thin neck and drag her up to my level, my large hand holding her hostage and breathless. "How d-dare you!" she shrieks, or at least she tries to. "Wh-what do you want?"

I hold her face up close to my own, anger and hatred burning in my eyes. "Where is she?" I shout at her, my voice tinged with hurt. When she doesn't answer, I tighten my grip and she gasps. "Where is she?"

"Where is who?" she pants. "I don't know what you're…" Strengthening my hold again, I try to force an answer from her.

"You damn well know who I'm asking about, don't you, you good-for-nothing whore!" I shout at her, not caring how inappropriate it is for me to say such things to a woman of her rank or how cruel I am being. She shakes her head, the movements small and frantic. "Where is Christine Daaè?

"I don't know who…" Indira struggles to get it out and then yelps again as I strengthen my grip upon her. "Stop!" her voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and raspy. I could kill her now, but what would that do for me?

"Tell me!" I yell, the sound coming from deep within the years of anguish tucked away in my mind, the years of being tormented and hurt. "Tell me or I will not hesitate to kill you!" I see tears on the ante-Khanum's face, her eyes watering with pain and dread.

"She's in the room at the end of the hall," Indira chokes. "Please, let me go!" Ah, a plea I can deal with. I throw her onto the mattress and storm from the room, ready to claim what is rightfully mine.

I stride down the long hallway in very few steps, though it feels so much longer. This time, I won't hide who I am, will not be afraid. I am through with fear, at least after what has just ensued. I am the predator, not the prey.

Not bothering to knock on the door, I slam it open. "Christine!" I shout, but then stop. On the bed across from the door lies a woman of beauty comparable to Christine's, but much darker. Her long hair flows over her shoulders, across the glossy skin. She looks upon my form as though she has eyes only for me, though I am fully aware that any woman here does not have sight for one man alone.

"Well, hello."


	19. Less Traveled to a Fate Worse than Death

_**Chapter Eighteen – From the Road Less Traveled to a Fate Worse than Death**_

_Persia 1875_

"Well, hello." I stared at the woman, eyes wide. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up, Sir Garnier." She rises from the bed, her sheer, draping garment hanging loosely and seductively on her frame, though I try very hard not to take notice. _Don't get distracted. You are here for one thing and one thing only._

"Who the hell are you?" I growl at her as she moves ever closer, taking hold on one of my forearms with her nimble, tan fingers.

"You really shouldn't be worrying about that," the woman murmurs, standing on tiptoe and pressing her lips along the exposed skin at the base of my neck. She works her way around me as I stand stock still. When she finds her way to my front, she rips the flimsy fabric of my shirt in half, leaving my chest bare, the ruined garment hanging open.

Behind me once again, the woman pulls the shirt off of my shoulders, leaving my body open to her eyes from the torso up. "You're so tense," she whispers, massaging my shoulder blades softly but forcefully. "Maybe you're worried my husband may catch us in our little exploits, hmm?" The woman traces the tip of her tongue down my back, causing me to shudder, and then she comes back to face me, her mouth dancing over the skin of my chest. Her hands grip onto my shoulders and she is soon looking up into my face.

"Husband?" I gulp. _Stop! You're afraid again!_

"Why, of course," she murmurs, kissing her way up the column of my throat. "I'd think that you would have figured it out by now." Then it all clicks, and apparently she can tell. "I knew you'd come round. Any man would kill to fill your shoes, to be on the threshold of lovemaking with the Khanum." I try to speak but voice fails me. "I don't believe you'll need this." Before I can stop her, she has taken my white mask and thrown it to the ground.

I wildly try to cover my face, the hideous part of me that has kept me from the world for all of these years. "You bitch! What are you…" The Khanum has grabbed my face with her hands, her smooth skin a harsh touch to the stubble of my good cheek and foreign to my deformed side.

"I know what you want, and I am willing to give it to you." A smile creases her face, her eyes glinting with wanton lust and pure evil. "However," she adds, before I can respond, "you must give me something in return. It is only fair." The Khanum runs her hands up and down my chest now, caressing the skin, sparse hair, and muscle. "Silent?" she whispers up at me when I do not answer, a cunning smile creasing her face.

I nearly shout in surprise as she touches her hand to my inner thigh, tracing circles with her fingers. Gulping, I answer her, "I will not…"

"Hush, now. I understand that you have not had prior experience," the Khanum murmurs, moving her hand that isn't preoccupied with tormenting me to touch my malformed cheek, and I shudder at the contact. "That is not a problem; I am not new to showing a man," her hand comes in gentle contact with the fabric covering my manhood as she speaks, "_pleasure_."

I'm so shocked now that I don't even feel it when she leads me like a dumb and blind child over to her bed and pushes me down upon it, straddling me as Indira did and returning to her sequence of moving her hands across my chest. "Now," she says, her voice dropping into a caliber I only know as one a woman uses when filled with lust, "let's begin with this, shall we?" To my sheer disgust and horror, the Khanum lowers her face to mine and presses her lips upon my own, sucking at them, using them for her own pleasure. As she kisses me, her nimble fingers find their way to the buttons on my pants and begin snapping them out of their fastenings.

Suddenly, I come to, realizing where I am. Never have I had a woman and I don't intend to tonight. Shoving the Khanum off of me, I roll on top of her and pin her shoulders down with my large hands. "Tell me where Christine is!" I growl at her, forcing her down into the mattress. "Tell me where she is or I will kill you and mangle your body for your husband to find in the morn."

"I'm afraid that telling you will be no use," the Khanum replies, awfully calmly for a woman whose life is being threatened by a man twice her size. "You see, your darling Christine isn't who you think she is, not any more." That sinful smile spreads across her face like an infection, and it feels as though the sheer evilness with seep into my skin through the contact of my hands on her shoulders.

"What do you mean?" I say through gritted teeth. "What the hell do you mean?" Shouting now, I press harder, eager for the kill like I haven't been in nearly five years.

"Should you go to your little porcelain doll, sir, I'm afraid you will find her quite asleep." I look at her confusedly, contemplating what she could mean. "You will find your protégée quite drugged, milord," the Khanum says with a fiercer tone than before.

The words don't sink in. They just…don't. The only one that stuck was somebody calling my Angel my protégée once again. "You…"

"Of course I know about you, _Monsieur le Fantôme._ She cries in her sleep every night, screaming for an angel to save her, an 'Angel of Music,' sir!" The Khanum rises from the bed, stalking me like a lioness. "She screams in the night, 'please, Daddy, send me the Angel of Music! Send me an angel to guide me!' And she wakes up yelling and crying and babbling about some unknown voice in the darkness, a spirit with no bodily form. The thing yells under the influence some harsh tune, 'Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair!' 'Turn around and face your fate!' I decided to drug her when she awoke crying and screaming about a man whose face wasn't a face at all!" She is breathing heavily, her voice having erupted from the first quiet words she spoke. "You think, sir, it took long to figure out that this _monster_ she spoke of was you! You were her 'Angel' so many years ago, sir, and you thought she would forget! Not so easily! And now you are back as her rapist, my God!"

Her chest heaves as I stare at her incredulously. _Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair…turn around and face your fate!_ "You…_drugged_ the girl?" I ask her.

"We have our fair share of opium around the palace, sir. It was not hard to find a tea form and give it to her twice daily. The poor thing nearly depends on it now." Without a moment's hesitation I slap her roughly across the face, and I immediately regret it. Visions flood back to me of backhanding Christine the first night I came to the harem, manhandling her like a common whore.

I back up, sinking to the floor to grab my mask, stumbling out of the room and running, running as if I've never run before. There is nothing in my head but finding Christine, saving her from what she's destined to be. As I replace the mask on my face, my lack of attention to my surroundings runs me into a young girl about Christine's age. "Excuse me," I mutter, trying to move past.

"Wait!" the girl cries out, and I turn. "Do you need any help with…anything?" I see her eyeing my mask, bare chest and half-unbuttoned pants with great scrutiny.

I walk back up to her and ask her, trying to stay calm, "Do you know a Christine Daaè, miss?" The girl's eyes widen to incredible proportions.

"Yes," she answers quietly. "I can help you find her." The harem girl grabs my hand and drags me down the hallway until we're at the room in which I'd first come to Christine. It is utterly dark inside, though it smells of jasmine. I see the moonlight shining off of the silky bedspread that hides a small, womanly form beneath it.

I take a tentative step towards her when I hear moans coming from the bed. _No, Daddy. Please, don't let him hurt Raoul. Daddy, it's all my fault. Daddy!_ Hurrying to her side, I kneel down by the bed, the girl standing a few respectful feet behind me. Reaching out a gentle hand, I touch Christine's forehead, cool and clammy. "Christine, _mon ange_. Christine, listen to your Angel. Hush, _bébé_, do not cry," I coo, letting my voice float over her.

She wakes with a start, panting heavily, and I avert my eyes from her filmy and sheer shift. Her eyes lock with mine and a startled hand flies to her mouth. "No…no…go away, please!" she cries, tears welling up in her eyes. Hastily, I rummage around in my pocket and find the little vial of sleeping draft, uncorking it and running it beneath her nose. She is instantly in a dead sleep.

Replacing the vial in my pocket, I remove the covers and scoop Christine's scantily clad form up into my arms, holding her against my chest. _Mon dieu_, she is thin. "Come," the other girl says urgently. "She will have woken up the whole harem by now. We must move quickly." She leads me out the door of the room and down some hallways, twisting and turning into the maze of the harem. There are sounds in the hallway up ahead and we stop, leaning against a wall.

"My name's Lakhi," the girl says timidly, her voice quiet even for our intruder-induced silence. "I don't mean to be rude, but my sister told me about you coming here and it just didn't seem true that you would hurt her," she remarks, motioning to Christine lying defenseless in my arms. "And when I saw you running from the Khanum…I knew you were better than they said. Most men just fall for her and let her do as she pleases with them. Nobody's turned her down since I've been here, nearly five summers now."

There isn't much I can say in response, at least nothing that's comfortable, so I nod in her direction, and I know she can see me. "Call me Erik," I add, knowing that there probably won't be a time after tonight when it will be relevant. The sounds subside and we hurry onward, until finally we step out into a courtyard shadowed in moonlight. Lakhi adjusts Christine's shift and hair, making her what I assume to be more comfortable. "You have a place to stay?"

"Yes, Lakhi, thank you." She smiles gently and strokes Christine's mass of curly hair.

"I'll miss her, you know. But I'm sure that things are better this way. I know she could never have been happy serving men, even if she put on the façade of being all right with it." Lakhi bows her head in a solemn pause. "Good luck," she wishes me. "And please, never tell anybody I helped you. If this was found out…they say that there are worse punishments than death for disobedience or fraternizing with men outside of duty."

"I will keep this secret, Lakhi," I reply forcefully, "but only if you will do the same for me, for Christine's sake. If there are punishments worse than death…"

"Oh, I would never sell another person into that fate! Could you do that? Could you, Erik?" The girl poses an interesting question. What am I to say? Someone like me…

"No," I lie softly, sounding as though I don't really want to say it. "I couldn't do that, Lakhi."

We stand in awkward silence until Lakhi kisses Christine's clammy forehead and squeezes my arm amicably. "Take care of her, please? She's been through so much…"

As I walk off into the Persian night, Christine unconscious in my arms, I think on those words. _She's been through so much…_and God, do I know it.


	20. Truth and Consequence

_**Chapter Nineteen – Truth and Consequence**_

_Persia 1875_

I lay Christine down on the dingy mattress in my room at the inn, resting her head on the pillow and running to find some blankets to keep her warm. When I return, I see her shifting around on the pallet, moaning almost inaudibly, but moaning and grimacing all the same. Her body, now reduced to mere skin and bones, writhes uncomfortably on the mattress, and I feel a rush of emotion towards her. Rushing to her, I pull the thin blankets over her and stroke her forehead again, knowing she won't awaken until I rouse her from her forced slumber. Maybe I should wait a little time. Maybe I shouldn't.

She wakes quickly as I waft a second vial beneath her nose, the smelling salts sending a jolt of awakening through her fragile form. Christine sits up with a start, breathing heavily, shivering almost. I watch as she looks at her surroundings, at the bare room I've rented for the time being. And I follow her with my eyes as she turns to me, her deep brown eyes locking with my own green ones.

Then she screams.

The euphoria is overwhelming, making me feel as though I've melted into some sweet, angelic elixir that can do anything. Suddenly, it ends, and I sit up with a jolt, blinking the sleepiness out of my eyes.

This is not where I fell asleep. I had fainted upon finding out that Chandra had found my…that man, and I knew that I'd been tucked in and left to sleep. What isn't entirely clear in my mind is what happened after that. I remember not so vividly waking up to a masked face in the darkness and crying out against it, but I can recall no more than that.

The room I am in is a rundown little space at what I can only assume to be an inn or boarding house. There are dirty cracked windows to match the mirror across from the bed, hanging lopsided over a muddy washbasin that looks as though it itself had not been cleaned in ages. As my eyes travel around the room, from dilapidated wall to dilapidated wall, until my eyes settle upon the one person I never hoped to see again in my life.

There is nothing to do but scream, though I know that he will not be dissuaded from whatever his plans are by a childish shriek. I shudder uncontrollably as the figure reaches a hand out, a hand probably meant for comfort, but I shift away on the tiny pallet, moving from his hands, hands I only remember as being the ones to rip my skirts away and touch my skin. Years ago…_no. It didn't happen. Stop thinking on that._

"Christine, stop it!" he growls at me as I continue to dodge his hands, reaching out to me. Finally, his hands grab each of my shoulders and force me to sit still upon the mattress, though I continue to squirm against his fierce grip.

"I'm not Christine," I whimper, tears pooling in my eyes for unknown reasons. The shivering doesn't subside, and I quake under the iron grip I'm being held with. Biting my lip to keep from crying, I repeat, "I'm not Christine."

"Who are you then?" the man says through gritted teeth. _He's just another man._ "If you are not Christine, then who are you?" His steely-green eyes stare me down, and I don't think I could've moved even if I wasn't being held. The look is so utterly penetrating, and I feel transparent, that every part of me is open to viewing.

"I-I-I am R-risa," my voice shakes as my mouth forms the name I have grown accustomed to, though it still does not suit Christine Emmanuelle Daaè, the wife of le Vicomte de Chagny, the former opera singer. But it does suit Christine the harem girl, who I am afraid I've become whether I like it or not.

The words escape into the air, floating to the man across from me, and I realize that my body still shakes, and, though I try to stop it, it persists. But I'm not cold, and even when I'm scared I can stop the undeniable shivering. "Well, Mademoiselle Risa," he says in a very sly voice that I've heard one too many times, "maybe you could be of assistance in helping me find the girl I'm looking for. You do not recognize this, perhaps?" With that, he draws from one of his pockets a small ring, clearly not meant for a man's hand, with an exquisite setting of crystals on the top, looking like a flower or a starburst.

My hand flies to my mouth of its own volition. "No," I breathe, "it can't be…" my voice trails off and I find myself feeling very faint again. All of the memories I've suppressed, all thought of my former life, come flooding back to me in harsh torrents of pain, love, and remembrance. There was the death of my father, my days as a dancer at the opera, the night of _Hannibal_, the trip to the underground lair, being on the roof of the opera with Raoul, the Bal Masque, my journey to the cemetery, the one and only performance of _Don Juan_, and then…

The final visions that passed through my mind in those few seconds were of the lair beneath the opera house, the fight that had ensued in the catacombs between my lover and my teacher. All of the things I'd felt then couldn't possibly be resurrected in me now, every pang of guilt or rush of love or frenzy of hate. "Risa?" he asks, "Are you all right?"

I hear myself mumble something along the lines of, "Tea, please. I must sleep. It's very late, and I need tea." The face across from mine twists into something of a wicked grimace and the slackened grip on my shoulders tightens.

"You cannot have it, Chr…Risa," he growls at me.

"Why?" I mew, my voice a quiet but painful whine. "I need it to sleep."

"No you don't!" he shouts at me standing up with a great ferocity that sends me toppling onto my back on the rough mattress. "Don't you know what it is, _petite fille_?" Little girl. He'd called me a little girl, and that somehow stung more than most things. "Well, do you?" he snarls. When I do not answer he takes firm hold of my shoulders once more and wrenches me into a standing position, and the quaking of my body increases, though it's been continuing through all of this. "Haven't you heard of opium, _fille_? Do you even know what it is or what it does to you?" Somehow, I manage to shake my head in discouragement. "Opium is a narcotic, _petite fille_, and you are addicted to it! It's that damned tea they've been giving you in that hellhole of a place!"

"How dare you say that about them?" I spit back, surprised at my own confidence towards a man who…well…it is unusual of me to be so assertive, to say the least. "They gave me a home and here you are accusing them…"

That'd done it. In an instant, I find myself being held in the air, my feet dangling a few inches above the ground, my face mere inches from his. "You mean to tell me that those whores gave you a better home than you were offered previously? You mean to tell me that their conniving hopes for you were more to your liking than a comfortable life somewhere else? You are worse than I thought," he growls at me, tossing me back on the mattress.

"J-just bring me my tea," I mutter, curling up under the pitiful blanket, my hip sore from being thrown on that awful mattress. Even the addition of a blanket doesn't do anything to help the shivering go away. As he remains silent, I let my mind take hold of what I said in support of Chandra and the rest of the harem. She would never do this to me; I meant too much to her as a means of entertainment for her husband and then a source of income. And Indira…she was always so kind to me and I cannot see the villainy within her that would ever do such a thing to me as drug me.

The masked man's voice brings me up from my reverie. "I will not," he begins through gritted teeth, "bring you any such 'tea.' If you want it, _ma fille_, you will just have to learn to be without it."

I stand abruptly at these words and scurry around to face him as he moves to walk away from the mattress. He's broken my last nerve, though I suppose he'd done that long ago…_you can't hide that you know him, Christine._ "You've never denied me anything in my whole life and this is the time you choose to do it?" I shriek at him, though it comes out a little shakier than I had hoped, as the shivering I'm trying so hard to suppress continues its evil hold on me.

He leans over so his face is right near mine and places a hand beneath my chin, turning my head so my eyes look straight into his. "I do not believe that I've had such an opportunity, Mademoiselle Risa. You and I have not known each other for longer than a few nights ago, am I correct?" He pauses for the effect and then turns on his heel to walk away, leaving me utterly confused and hurt. He opens the door and begins to walk down the hall of the inn when I run to the door to follow. I have no other choice.

"Angel!" I cry, sounding completely defeated, my legs threatening to buckle from the intense shivering. I watch the ground begin to grow much too close as I shout, even louder this time, "Angel!"


	21. The Fine Line between Heaven and Hell

**I don't pretend to know anything about drugs or withdrawal. I made this as realistic as I could. So…WARNING – drug withdrawal**

_**Chapter Twenty – The Fine Line between Heaven and Hell**_

_Persia 1875_

"Angel!" I shout as I fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, my body shivering from something unknown, something other than cold. Tears begin to fall in an unwavering stream from my eyes, dropping onto the dirty hallway floor. As I continue to shiver, I try to wipe the tears away but my hand shakes uncontrollably and I nearly poke myself in the eye.

I don't know where he's gone off to, but I manage to stand and begin staggering over to the small room, hoping to rest and maybe get myself something to drink, though the prospect of that dirty washbasin makes my insides squirm. As I make my way to the door, my legs wobble once again and I find myself sprawled on the floor as before. This time, I know that there's no getting up.

Deciding that my chances are slim of actually walking to the mattress, I use my arms and pull myself across the room towards the pallet, hoping for rest. When I reach it, however, I feel a strong pair of arms around me, lifting me off the ground and placing me on the mattress on my back. No sooner had I been laid there than a hand has come up and is stroking back my sweaty hair. My vision is blurred, but I have no doubts as to who it is. "Hush, _mon ange_," he whispers gently, continuing his soft caresses.

I whimper, the shivering completely taking over my body. All I can think about is wishing that I'd not fainted and wasted half of the tea Chandra had given me. _The tea…_it's not a narcotic. _But the shivering…_I'm frightened. _You've never shivered like this before, and you had many occasions on which to be terrified…_but this is different. _It all makes sense that it's a drug…_ The world seems to be spinning around me and my body is the earthquake causing the tremors. Crying out, I sense that I'm thrashing around on the bed, reaching out for something unknown and untouchable.

And then he is there, my…my Angel of Music. I feel my quaking body being gathered up against his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat against my own, though I know that my own is overwhelmingly faster paced. My face is up against the strong column of his throat, and I sense his pulse there too, showing that he is very much alive, not an Angel as I had once thought him to be.

Trivial things begin to spin around in my mind's eye. Did I eat much yesterday? Is my shift still covering me decently? Am I thirsty? Hungry? Wailing again, I bury my face in the comforting angle where his neck meets his shoulder, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. Looking in from the outside, some would think we are a couple through with a night's lovemaking, holding close to one another, basking in the afterglow. But if they know anything at all, they would see that I am not only still a virgin, but not in any mood or place for anything sexual whatsoever.

"Christine…" I hear my name come, as if from some far-off place, though it is clearly choked by crying; I know that sound well. Can it be? My Angel…crying for me? Somehow I manage to look up into his face, only to feel a tear drop down onto my own cheek from his. _Mon dieu_. Gathering my strength, I raise my arms up around his neck and hold myself there, pressing myself closer as though it will calm the shivering.

I don't know how much time goes by, minutes, hours, days…it all blends together, but I slowly feel the quaking subside, though I still shiver minimally. It is as though I'm waking from a deep slumber, and the words I awaken to are soft and familiar in my ear. _Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…_ Shifting my weight, I let my eyes flutter open to see my Angel barely moving his lips, but singing all the same. "Angel?"

If I had come out of some place in my mind, it is nothing compared to his jolt back to Earth. "Christine!" He sounds more shocked than pleased as I curl my body tightly against his, hoping for some comfort. My eyes remain open and I look out the broken and grimy window; it is dawn, the sky tinged a dusty purplish pink. I admire the beauty of it all, of the sky, of being alive and conscious and, almost subconsciously I suppose, of being with my Angel again. Thoughts of the Holy Father back in Paris wiggle their way back into my mind, but only briefly, as my Angel lifts me and lays me down upon the mattress again, pulling the thin blanket over my body.

"Sleep now, _mon amour_," he advises, stroking the side of my cheek and my hair. "I will let you sleep as long as you find necessary, and then we will leave this place. I know a very honorable man who would be more than happy to let you stay in his house." I do not hear most of this, nearly drowning in the bliss of being stable and free of that cursed bout of shivering.

As my Angel rises, I call him back. "Angel?" He turns, looking taller than ever from my low place on the mattress. I reach out my hand to him, and I see that it still moves a little, shaking slightly. He takes my smaller hand in his much larger one and proceeds too sit down beside me. "What is your name?" I ask, almost childishly. It's so silly that I never once learned his name in all the years I'd known him. I assumed that he was the Angel of Music and had no need for a name like other angels, but I suppose that I guessed wrong.

"My name is Erik," he responds gently, and, satisfied for the time being, I close my eyes. Before I drift off into sleep, I feel him press a gentle kiss on my forehead, then retreat.


	22. Where the Streets have no Name

_**Chapter Twenty-One – Where the Streets have no Name**_

_Persia 1875_

**Chandra**

"Where the hell is she, Indira?" I scream at the ante-Khanum, my second-in-command. "She was your charge, damn it!" Indira stands proudly before me, not showing emotion beyond a solemn frown.

"I'm sorry, Chandra. I didn't mean for her to get away like she did."

"Like she did? How _did_ she get away, might I ask?" I snarl, rising from the lounge chair and standing nearly nose-to-nose with Indira. "How could she have gotten away if she was feeling faint and was drugged, hmm?"

"I…don't know, ma'am. It could've been anything," Indira replies calmly. I sigh mournfully as one of the girls, Lakhi, brings some wine for Indira and myself. She places the tray on a little table and bows to take her leave when I remember something that one of the other girls told me earlier.

"Lakhi!" I call her, and she stands very straight before me. "Where were you last night? Jasmine says that you left your bed for quite some time; where did you go?"

"I went out for a walk, milady, to clear my senses. I was quite restless," the girl replies.

"Did you, by any chance, see Christine while you were 'clearing your senses?'" The girl swallows and shakes her head. "Answer me!"

"I didn't see her, ma'am. I'm sorry." The girl's lip quivers, and I know she's lying, though I don't know what exactly she lies about.

"You," I say, walking over to her and staring her down, "are one hell of a liar." Slapping her harshly across the face, I watch as tears well in her eyes. "Tell me what you were doing last night, Lakhi." She shakes her head fiercely and I whistle for the guards outside my room.

"Yes, milady?" the head guard says to me.

"Take her away! She will be executed at dawn tomorrow." As they drag her away, Indira and I watch, me with satisfaction, Indira with solemnity. There will be blood, I know, and we may well catch the man who calls himself the Phantom once and for all.

**Erik**

_My Darling Angel,_

_It feels so pointless to write this when you're mere feet from me, asleep in the aftermath of such a horrible night. However, _mon ange_, I find it necessary to spill my thoughts on paper to you. I know that you may never read this, Angel, but there are some things that I cannot keep from you._

_The first is that I never meant to harm you by finding you in that godforsaken harem. The sight of you dressed as a whore and ready to serve me like a common, sexually deprived man off the street made me sick. I felt like you should be punished for this, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt you, my beautiful darling Christine. There was too much left unsaid, too much still to happen. For this deception on my part, I am sorry._

_The second is that I visited your husband's grave on the day of his burial. I know that you heard me when I sang to you, though you refused to acknowledge me. Whatever could have prompted you to shut out an entire part of your life I may never know, but I trust your motives. All of this is behind us._

_The last may not come as a surprise to you as the others might have. I love you. There is no more to it than that. I love you and, no matter what happens from now on, I will always love you, my dearest Angel._

_Love, eternally,_

_Erik_

I fold up the piece of paper as I see Christine begin to stir, pocketing it and placing the quill and ink back on the decaying wood of the desk. In a meek sleepy voice, Christine says to me, "What are you doing?"

"I was making a note to myself," I lie, though it seems to suffice for whatever she wanted to know. She curls her tiny body under the thin blanket again, trying to warm her clammy body. I know that it will be a much longer road than just the events of the previous night until she is fully recovered from her experience with opium. Knowing her eyes are not on me, I take the opportunity to just look at her, and I find myself remembering her beautiful dancer's frame back in the days of the Opera Populaire. I could never have imagined then that this is where we'd end up less than five years out from the night of my opera, my masterpiece. But there is hope; if and when I return to Paris, I will write more of my aria, _L'Ange de Musique_. Maybe it will become a full opera, but one cannot hope for too much. _Don Juan_ was my life's work; God knows how long another would take.

_Daddy, I'm sorry! Please, forgive me! I didn't mean to…no, Daddy, no!_ I rush to the bedside at Christine's cries, running my hands along her arms and shoulders, trying to calm her as one would a young child.

"Christine, _mon amour_, it's a nightmare. Wake up, Christine, and it'll be…" I meant to say "over" but the wind is knocked out of me as Christine throws her small body against my own, clinging to me like I am the stability she's been so long denied; I probably am.

"Oh, Erik," she whimpers, and I can't help but smile at the way my name passes her lips for the first time. "It's my father! He's telling me I'm a whore and I have no worth and…and…" Christine falls into fits of tears burying her face in my shoulder, tightening her arms around my shoulders. I allow her to cry against me, and I finally hear her calming down after a few minutes. Helping her to lie down, I wipe the tears off of her cheeks and pull the blanket around her again. She smiles faintly and closes her eyes, balling herself up in a fetal position.

Satisfied that she will sleep well, I stand from the bed to go find something to dry off where her tears wet my skin. "Erik?" her meek voice says to me, and I turn back to her.

"Yes, _mon ange_?"

"Stay with me," she requests. I return to my kneeling position beside the pallet and stroke her hair again, hoping that my complying with her wishes will calm her further. "No, Erik," she interjects. "Hold me, Erik. Please." The brown irises of her eyes are glassy as she talks, as though she will cry again at any moment. I watch as she shifts over on the small mattress and lifts up the blanket.

"You want me to…" I begin, but Christine grabs my hand and pulls me toward her.

"I feel so alone, Erik," she cries, and that plea alone is enough to convince me to crawl up on the pallet with her. With trepidation, I place my arms around her tiny form and hold her against me, resting her head on my chest. I pull the blanket up over us and cradle her body with my own, feeling her heartbeat against my abdomen, the coarseness of her hair on my neck. Under the blanket, I sense her small knees knocking against my own, sending shivers up and down my spine.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel her plant a tiny kiss on the base of my neck. "Thank you, Erik," she whispers as she drifts off to sleep. I myself am very close to sleeping as well, comfortable in the sensation of Christine's body so close to my own, when there is a harsh rapping at the door. Try as I might to disengage from the embrace without waking her, Christine's eyes pop open as I move away. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," I reply as I go to the door. "Who's there?" I say, gruffly.

"It's Lalitha! Is Christine there?" a girl's voice replies.

"Lalitha!" Christine shouts, scrambling out of the bed and running on still-shaky legs to the door. She pushes past me and opens it, throwing herself into the embrace of the girl outside the door. Looking at Christine, I see that the girl beyond her is the one who brought me to Christine's room when I first came to the harem. "Dear, whatever is the matter?" Christine asks, holding Lalitha's shoulders and bending slightly to look up into the shorter girl's bowed face.

"It's Lakhi!" she cries. "Chandra thinks she had something to do with your escape! They've taken her away!" Christine folds the smaller girl into her arms and holds her against her chest, then turning to look at me.

"Erik, do you know about this?" Her eyes search me, and I know that she can tell I had something to do with it.

"They say," Lalitha sniffles, "that they're going to execute her at dawn tomorrow. Please, if you know anything…"

"Hush," Christine coos gently. "Erik, tell me now; did she help you?" I can't lie to her, not to my Angel.

"Yes."


	23. The Return and other Calamities

**I am making this little Public Service Announcement for this story. I check my stats every few days and I am extremely pleased with this story; it has far surpassed all of my others, being on over 30 favorites lists and over 40 alert lists. Thank you. However, the number of people who have reviewed certainly do not even come close to those numbers. I am asking nicely; please, review. You all have opinions and you have all clearly read this. I'll have more peace of mind if you'd be kind enough to leave a review. Even a simple "I loved this chapter," or "Great idea!" or anything else is fine; show me that you care. If there are that many of you who named this a "favorite" or who want to read more and have asked for an alert on this story, then you should all be opinionated. Thanks. –NSL Jewelles**

_**Chapter Twenty-Two – The Return of the Phantom and other Calamities**_

_Persia 1875_

I stare dumbfounded at Erik. "You put her in harm's way? How could you!" I yell mercilessly, walking with great purpose towards him. "She's a child, Erik! She's not even my age and you do this to her?"

"God damn it, Christine, stop accusing me!" He says back, harsh tones mixed with his voice. "I promised her I wouldn't tell anybody and I didn't! You know that I've been by your side since we left. How could I have told?" His eyes have grown incredibly lackluster in the years since I left him, but I only truly notice now; when he had great emotion, his eyes always sparkled. They no longer do. _Damn it, Christine, it's your own fault he's like this. He didn't have you and he didn't have anything._

"I believe you, Erik," I respond, much more calmly, running my palm along his shoulder and arm in comfort. "But what are we going to do?" I continue, holding Lalitha once again, soothing her with shushing sounds and gentle caresses.

I watch as he ponders the situation, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes half closed, some of his muscles tense. "I have to go after her," he states after a few long seconds. "I'm the reason she's in this mess and I have to get her out of it." Lalitha lets out a little whimper and clings to me like a baby to its mother.

Almost instantly, I reply, "I'll go with you."

"Are you mad, Christine?" Erik responds fiercely. "You cannot go back there, not now, not ever. You'd be in too much danger." The considerate side of the man everyone thought to be a monster shows through now as he tries to stop my attempt at bravery. I watch as he swallows hard and says, "I can't lose you to them. Not again."

Lalitha's head pops up. "You know him?" she says. "After all he did to you…you knew him the whole time?" I nod solemnly. "But how…"

"It's a long story, Lalitha," I say to quiet her. "But yes, I do know him." She opens her mouth to speak and once again is silenced by me. "No more questions now." She nods and looks at Erik, sadness written all over her face.

"Tell me you can save my sister," she says. Erik looks at her, then at me, and I nod, knowing that he is asking my permission to say what I know he will.

"I've done more complicated things."

**Later…**

As I close the door of Erik's room at the inn, I secretly worry for Lalitha. She has told me that she'll be fine alone, that she doesn't want to face Chandra and Indira yet, but I worry. "Christine!" Erik says sharply from up ahead. "You wanted to come, so come!" I speed up my pace and fall into step just behind Erik. I feel so out of place in the dress he had for me, a very simple maid's dress, but it's better than my shift. Erik, on the other hand, is dressed to kill in his signature black pants and white poet's shirt. He has switched masks, and is now donning a black one to cover his eyes and the sides of his face, very similar to his mask from _Don Juan_.

We hurry down the streets of Sardes, down alleyways and past merchants' stalls, until we are before the palace. Before I can say anything, Erik has pulled me into a small alley just across from the entrance to the harem, his hand a firm hold on my arm. "What is it, Erik?" I ask him, sounding almost concerned.

"Christine, let me do the talking. I don't want you getting yourself into any more trouble," he advises, almost reprimanding me. I nod gently, and he continues, "I mean it, Christine. If you get hurt…"

"Erik," I interrupt, "please have faith in me." His eyes search me at this, and I keep going. "I know that I lost your trust many years ago, Erik, and what I did then was wrong. But please, I am not a child. I can take care of myself now." That, I suddenly realize, was a mistake.

"Christine Daaè, do you think you would've gotten yourself into this situation if you could care for yourself?" he shouts at me, anger radiating from every part of him. "If I thought you could care for yourself I'd never have come after you, Christine. Listen to me; you were a part of something much bigger than yourself, whether you admit it or not. You were a pawn to that wicked woman and her husband, Christine! I know because I've been there! So don't tell me you can care for yourself, Christine. You may be a woman now and you may understand your mistakes as a girl, but you do not understand the entirety of this situation you've gotten yourself into. Do you understand me?"

I cast my eyes to the ground and focus on something other than his words. "Christine," he says, much softer now, "I am telling you this because you need to hear it, not because I want to reprimand you like a small child."

"Then why yell at me like a child?" I shout in response. "It didn't work back then and it won't work now!" I say, remembering all too clearly the time when I pulled his mask off in his lair and was thrown to the ground, reprimanded like a young girl who'd done something incredibly wicked. "Well?"

Erik looks me straight in the eye and says, "Because…because…" As he stutters, I think back to Lalitha in the room at the inn, wondering about her sister's fate. "Because I…"

"Erik, we'll talk about this later. Right now there are more important things than how we treat each other." I grab his hand and pull him out onto the streets again, hurrying to the door of the palace.

**Later…**

"Ah, the Phantom has returned." I watch from beyond the doorway as Erik makes his way across the room towards Chandra and the Shah. They are both lying on the elegant array of pillows on which I first met the Khanum, drinking wine and eating grapes. "Did you bring the girl back with you, or are you just looking for more trouble?"

"I hear that you are executing one of your own tomorrow at dawn," he accuses them, the power in his voice almost deafening, reminding me painfully of his days as the Phantom.

"She disobeyed the laws clearly set down for her," the Shah responds, rising from the pillows, "the punishment for which is death. If you would like to join her…" Erik takes a purposeful step towards him but stops when the Shah pulls a long golden sword from its scabbard at his side. My hand flies to my mouth and I suppress a terrified scream. "Then again, if you'd prefer it over now, I'd be happy to oblige." I watch with intent to see what Erik and the Shah do next when I feel a strong pair of hands on my arms.

"Risa, it has been too long." Dear Lord above, it is Hamir. "You really shouldn't get behind on your work, now, should you?" he says, sweeping my hair away from the side of my neck and kissing the skin there. I bite my lip, trying to ignore it, trying to watch Erik. "However, you may repent for that now if you wish," Hamir adds, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against him, starting to drag me down the hallway.

I grab at the doorframe and shout out, "Erik!" He turns away from the Shah and watches with horror in his eyes as Hamir drags me down the hallway. As I finally cannot hold onto the doorframe any longer, I catch a glimpse of the Shah clubbing Erik's turned head with the butt of his sword. "Erik!" I cry as I see him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.


	24. Lock and Key

**Thank you for those of you who took the time to review the last chapter…you're all awesome! -NSLJ**

**Warning – non-consensual sex and violence…Don't say you weren't warned**.

_**Chapter Twenty-Three – Lock and Key**_

_Persia 1875_

**Christine**

Hamir drags me down the hallway, kicking and screaming as I am, and into my old room at the harem. With a great amount of force, he throws me down on the bed and produces two lengths of rope, tying my arms to the headboard. "I swear, Hamir, I will kill you if you even think about touching me."

"I have thought about touching you, Risa, for quite some time now," he says harshly, pressing an impassioned but hurtful kiss onto my lips. "And besides," he says, running a finger sensually along my jaw, "you are a prostitute. It is your job to do as I say and to let me have your body."

Mustering my strength, I lash out at him with my legs and one of the makes harsh contact with his chest. Hamir reels backward, clutching at his chest, and I snarl at him, "I don't give a damn what you think I am, Hamir. You cannot have me."

He comes back over to me and slaps me forcefully across the face. "I am the Shah's Grand Vizier; whatever I want is mine." With that he turns on his heel and goes to the door. "I will return shortly. By that time you best come to terms with the fact that someone like you must do what they're told." Hamir walks out and slams the door shut behind him.

Crying out, I struggle against the tight ropes that are now cutting into my wrists, leaving marks on the skin there. It's all in vain, and I give up my futile attempts, collapsing tired on the bed. Looking at the blankets, there is still a stain there from the tea I spilled the other night. _Damn them. Damn them and their narcotic tea._ I know now that it's all true. As much as I am loathed to admit it, I was wrong. I was terribly horribly wrong. I let them boss me around, make me give pleasure to men, ruin my life, all for the sake of what? Nothing. I earned nothing.

_That's not true. You have Erik now. Your Angel has returned to you_. Tears spring forth in my eyes and land on my neck and dress. I suppose that I am still that religious woman pleading with the Holy Father to forgive me my sin of thinking of another man. Some things never do change.

**Erik**

My eyes flutter open to see nothing but darkness. A dim light on the wall casts an eerie glow to the opposite side of the room that I'm in. My head is throbbing, sending jolts of pain all through my body, and I try to stand up, hoping the pain will ease. However, upon standing I fall to the ground again. Never in my life have I felt so helpless, and I don't even remember where I am.

_The girl who helped me…execution…the palace…Christine…_the sudden realization of where I am prompts me to put a hand up to where the pulsing ache is on my head to try and help it, but I am met with something much worse than a headache; they took my mask.

I let out a roar of frustration, stand, and pound both of my fists against the stone wall, letting my head droop. "Well?" I shout, once again feeling a little religious but wanting to strangle God. "Is this what you wanted? The infamous Opera Ghost to be captured himself? You've taken everything from me! The one thing I had left, the one person I had left to hope for…you gave her up to be whore to another man! Are you happy now? Are you?"

"In fact, I am very happy now," says a voice from outside the cell. I turn around and see the Khanum standing a few feet from the door with a bodyguard, a man much taller and bulkier than myself, who is holding a torch, casting firelight and shadows around the dungeons. "It's wonderful to see you know your God; you will meet him personally quite soon."

I stride over to the bars keeping me from the outside world and stare at her with fury. "Why are you doing this to us?" I growl at her, prompting the bodyguard to move in my direction and brandish the torch, before the Khanum puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back.

The Khanum comes right up to the bars, knowing that I can't rightfully hurt her while the guard is there, and sneers. "Before that little ingénue started causing trouble, my husband and I were fully in love. We made love every night; we ruled as one, we were as passionate as any. But then that girl of yours showed up and her charm caught men who would've gone to the ante-Khanum. So, naturally, we gave her a chance; it's good money. Then, of course, the ante-Khanum was less busy and, what do you know? She and my husband have been having an affair behind my back." I see her feign tears and pretend to wipe them daintily from her face. Then her words on Christine take hold.

"What do you…what are you talking about? Christine would never…"

"Oh, but she would," the Khanum says slyly, her façade of sadness completely thrown to the dogs. "She's quite a pretty girl, and seductive as anything. I suppose her charm did you in, along with her late husband. You know, I don't know anything about him, but it is no surprise that she chose him over you," she muses, drawing a finger across my mask. That, if nothing else she's said, does me in.

Without thinking twice, I grab her by the neck and hoist her off the ground, holding her at arm's length so her flailing legs don't hit me as she uses her hands to try and force me away. "Get yer hands off 'er!" the guard shouts, coming towards me, but I force a leg out through the bars and my boot-clad foot connects with his groin, sending him to the ground, doubled over in pain.

"_Au revoir_," I say as I stare into the Khanum's eyes, tightening my hold on her neck, ready to send her to the grave.

"I'll see you in hell, _Monsieur le…_" With that, the Khanum is no more. The bodyguard, still howling on the ground, pays me no attention as I slip an arm through the bars and grab the ring of keys. I manage to unlock the door of the cell and I hurry out, grabbing the dropped torch as I go.

After exiting the dungeons, I reorient myself and keep running, knowing I must find Christine before it is too late for either of us. As I run, I feel around in my pocket for the letter I had written to her earlier. Drawing it out into the open air, I press it to my lips and whisper so only God can hear, "Let her be mine."

**Christine**

My tears have dried by the time Hamir reenters the room. This time, he has with him a goblet of some sort of dark liquor and is in loose cropped pants and a shirt similar to Erik's. _Erik, help me._ The thought of him brings more tears to my eyes, knowing that I had acted as though he didn't exist for so long and that I am now in his debt, knowing that he may find me ravaged and impure like a common whore, knowing that his kindness, kindness he'd never shown before and certainly doesn't owe me, has not been reciprocated by me.

Hamir comes over to me and I struggle against the bindings on my wrists as a signal to him. "No," he says curtly. "If you want me to take them off, you must earn it." He lifts the goblet to his lips and takes a sip, then hands it out towards me. "Would you like some?" he asks, feigning generosity. I give him a look of consideration and he moves it closer to me, tempting me.

With that, I spit into the goblet, tainting the liquid with my saliva. Hamir doesn't hesitate to backhand me, harder than before, and pain courses through me. I am scared half to death, wishing I'd never enticed him by spitting in the liquor, glad I have just to show that I'm not scared, even though I am.

I nearly faint dead away when Hamir climbs up onto the mattress and rests himself on my legs, and I know he's doing it so I don't use them as a means of protection for myself. "Now," he says, placing his large calloused hands on my shoulders and then running them down my front, over my breasts and down my sides to him waist and hips, "you will show discipline and do anything and everything I say. Is that understood?"

Realizing that I have some movement in my knees, I bend one harshly up, hoping to hurt him where I know every man is vulnerable, but he is faster and sits up out of the range of my range, then sitting back down again in a safer spot on my legs. "Feisty today, are we?" he says, leaning down and pressing searing kisses along my neck, proceeding to unlace the front of my dress and kiss the skin he reveals. I shudder beneath his touch, frightened of what he will do to me, terrified even more of my fate in the long term if Erik doesn't come for me._ You didn't think about this before. You didn't leave this place when you knew you were destined for prostitution. You are a silly girl, Christine Daaè, silly and naïve_. I know it, too. As much as I have become more…womanly in these last few months, as much as I have learned more about my femininity and its power than I could ever have hoped to in Paris, I am still more naïve than most. I thought I could convince myself that such a significant part of my life didn't happen. I thought that if I tried hard enough I could keep my promises to both my husband, may God protect his soul, and the Holy Father. I was wrong. This is wrong.

My mind returns to the present as I hear Hamir ripping apart the camisole I have on underneath the dress, and am reminded vividly of Erik ripping away my skirts the first night he came to the harem. _He wouldn't hurt you now, Christine. He's helped you more than hurt you._ I cry out in pain more than anything else as Hamir reaches his hands inside my ruined camisole and beings to fondle my breasts, pressing and squeezing like it won't hurt me.

Tears begin to form in my eyes as he lifts up my skirts and searches for the waistband of my pantalets (I had, thankfully, saved one pair from Paris). He hears me and wipes my tears away with his thumb. "Do not cry, Risa," he says in a voice full of overdone sympathy. "Don't fear me. I won't hurt you," he continues, pulling down the undergarment and throwing it to the side. My skirts are hiked up around my hips now, and I watch in a dazed horror as Hamir begins to prod at me in the place Madame Giry used to call, "a woman's treasure."

"Risa," he says, his voice full of passion, "you really mustn't be afraid. Be excited." Hamir's words are incoherent in my mind, jumbling together to be inconsistent and they don't make sense. All I know is that his face is right near my neck, breathing on my skin, whispering things that become nonsensical. His hands explore the rest of my body, from my hips and waist to my breasts and my back.

There is pain, terrible pain, and I close my eyes, wanting everything to be over, wanting to black out and forget everything. My life spins before me, and all I want is to be back in Paris, safe from harm, safe in Raoul's arms. _Safe in my Angel's arms…_ I hear a distant cry of, "Angel!" and I know it's my voice, though I'm not really sure why. Everything is spinning and I feel as though my body is numb, a worthless pile of skin, muscle, and bone. Somewhere in the distance I hear a loud crash and my eyes fly open, but upon seeing what's before me I only wish to be back in that world of what felt like near-death.


	25. All the World's a Stage

**I was pleasantly surprised by all of the reviews for last chapter…even if some of them were slightly, uh, wrong. coughTaliacough Thanks, and I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger, folks. I swear I didn't mean it! Love, NSL Jewelles**

**_Chapter Twenty-Four – All the World's a Stage, the People merely Players_**

_Persia 1875_

**Erik**

As I run along the corridors and open halls of the palace, I try to formulate a clever escape for Christine, Lakhi, and myself, not to mention getting out of Sardes altogether after following through with it. And, of course, I am in need of my Punjab lasso, which Antoinette so kindly confiscated. There is an open storeroom on my right, and I duck inside, searching for rope of any kind; I am foolishly lucky to find an approximate eight-foot length of heavy cord; this will have to do. Crude lasso in hand, I continue.

I don't know where to look, what to do, who to ask. I mentally chide myself for my foolish plans and for not taking proper precautions and measures to ensure success. If Christine is hurt because of me…

My thoughts run short as I walk by a doorway guarded by two extremely large men. Inside, I can hear the sobbing of what only can be a young woman. My blood runs cold; what have they done to my Angel?

I realize that I've been staring at the door when one of the guards says to me, "Move on. Nothing to see in there." But just as quick as he says that I have my makeshift lasso around his neck, breaking it. The other guard makes a move at me and he too is dead on the ground before touching me. Grabbing keys from one of their belts, I try many in the door and finally get a match, opening the large wooden door.

Lying on a large bed opposite the door is Lakhi, curled up in a little ball, crying without mercy. "Lakhi!" I say, and she sits up, revealing her sallow, tear-stained face. Her eyes light up and she jumps off the mattress, running to me and throwing her arms around me. For a second I freeze up, not knowing quite what to do, when she ceases her displays of affection.

"You came back!" she says, her voice a little raspy. "I can't believe it! How did you…" I press a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Lakhi, you must do as I say if you want to live. I will have the Shah on my trail in short time and you must be cautious. Do you understand?" I ask her.

"Of course," she replies, "but why is the Shah after you? He doesn't know you're here, does he?"

I swallow hard. "He knows I am in the palace, though he thinks I'm still in the dungeons." Her face contorts into a look of confusion. "I'll explain later, but we have more pressing matters to attend to." I stride towards the door and Lakhi jogs to keep up with me. She knows better, I can see, than to ask what I've still got to do.

As we run down the hall, I hear noise from a room on my left; Christine's room. "Wait here, Lakhi," I mutter, holding the lasso firmly in my hand. I long to throw open the door and be done with whatever I must do, but I am cautions. Come to think of it, I am terrified of what she will think of me; I am back to my old Opera Ghost ways. Swallowing hard, I open the door a crack and then throw it open.

**Christine**

Erik stands in the doorway, long lasso in hand and I shut my eyes tightly again amidst the blinding pain that nearly petrifies me. The whole world is just a blur of sounds, and among them are the door crashing open, heavy footfalls, rustling of sheets, the cracking of a whip. I shudder, breathing unevenly and quickly, shaking as though going through seizure.

There are hands, familiar hands, on my cheek and in my hair, soothing me, calming me. "Christine, come back. Please, Christine. Try, _mon ange_, try for me." I inadvertently bite my lip in the pain of moving any of my muscles as I open my eyes a crack and see Erik's eyes staring back at me through his black mask.

"Erik?" I murmur softly, my voice just above a whisper, my eyes opening a little more. "Oh, Erik," I cry, wanting to just curl up in his embrace knowing that somebody cares for me, but my arms are still bound. With great haste, Erik stands and begins untying my wrists from the headboard, and I take a moment to glace around the room.

In the doorway stands a very frightened-looking Lakhi, her body frozen, her eyes wide, staring at me, Erik, and the floor in sequence. My eyes follow her line of vision to the floor where I see Hamir's half-naked body lying lifeless, his neck firmly wrapped in a long length of rope. My breathing picks up again and I feel once again extremely faint.

I feel my hands come loose and I am immediately wrapped in Erik's arms, crying onto his shoulder. "Hush, _mon amour,_ you're safe," he assures me, stroking my hair and back. Lakhi appears beside Erik and she too tries to comfort me with soothing caresses. "Come," Erik says gently, "we must get away from here."

"Why?" I question as he draws me up from the bed and holds me against his chest, carrying me like a groom carries his bride on their wedding night. Not that I am much to carry; I've grown so thin.

As we take leave of the room, leaving Hamir's choked body on the floor, Erik responds, "The Phantom of the Opera never forgets his old ways."

"You wouldn't…you didn't…" I stutter, not really believing. "Besides Hamir, how many people did you hurt?"

"I hurt those who tried to hurt me. It is man's natural instinct to fight back." I decide it's better not to ask any more questions, and I find myself in a comfortable position in his arms once more, clinging to him.

We run down hallways and corridors and finally reach the city outside of the palace, but our pace does not falter. After many more minutes, we find ourselves at the door of Erik's room at the inn. Lakhi opens it and she is almost instantly in the embrace of her sister. Erik walks past the reunited sisters and lays me down on the mattress, positioning the pillow under my head. My vision is still hazy but I can distinctly make out the shape of his mask, the shiny glimmer of his eyes.

"Christine," he says to me, his voice a littler harsher than I expected it to be at a time like this, "tell me who he was." I bite my lip as tears spring to my eyes. It's coming, I just know it is. He's going to ask me what I was doing in the harem besides being drugged. _You must tell him, Christine. You owe him your life, you can at least give him this._

I tell him. Lalitha and Lakhi seem to have busied themselves with tidying up the room a little, which is certainly not a task for the faint of heart, and I speak freely, telling of every event since I decided to leave Paris for Persia, since I ran out of the chapel that day last winter. When I finish, Erik is just staring at me blankly, neither of us really knowing what to say. "What I did was wrong, Erik," I continue, choking out every word, "but if you can find it in yourself to forgive me…"

I need not ask twice, for Erik has lifted me off the mattress and into his embrace, holding me as tightly as I had him. Wrapping my arms around him, I savor the closeness, feeling safer and more secure than I have in a long while. All comes to an end, however, when Erik sets me on my feet and says, "We must get going. If we don't leave here soon there will certainly be hell to pay." I run to Lalitha and Lakhi as Erik hurries around the room, grabbing assorted belongings, though there aren't many, and throwing them in a satchel. He motions to the three of us and we follow him, walking out the door of the inn, not knowing what lies ahead.


	26. The Noble House of Khan

_**Chapter Twenty-Five – The Noble House of Khan**_

_Persia 1875_

**Christine**

When we stop that first night at a little tavern, I realize the extent of Hamir's use of my body. Erik was kind enough to pay for two rooms, one for himself and one for Lalitha, Lakhi and I, and they grant me the privilege of using the washroom first. I sink into the small tub, having filled it with lukewarm water; I could not get it any hotter. Once in the water, I look myself over from top to bottom.

There are small bruises on the sides of my breasts and on my neck there are small red marks. My hips are bruised as well, the tender skin beginning to turn purplish in some spots. The greatest horrors of all are the smears of dried blood on the insides of my thighs. I never really felt it there, but now that I look at myself, I don't understand how I could've overlooked it. My whole body from my breasts down is sore, the muscles tight, the skin bruised.

I must move on, and I start by washing myself thoroughly with the cloth provided taking extra care on my extremely tender body. Once I am through, my skin is rubbed raw, as though I can't get the dirtiness to leave. Then I proceed to wash my hair and face, but even that doesn't seem to get rid of the overwhelming sense of being unclean.

When I finally emerge from the washroom, I see that Lalitha and Lakhi have ventured to the little shop on the ground floor of the inn and have purchased, with Erik's money, I have no doubt, some new clothes for me, including a light dress and sandals, and nightdresses for the three of us. I hug the both of them tightly in thanks and we all change for the night, tucking ourselves into our small beds and falling asleep.

**Later…**

It's pitch black in the room when I wake up suddenly. _Hamir's face in the darkness, cackling at me…_ Hurriedly, I turn on the small lamp on the table to the side of my bed and crawl out of the covers, walking to the door and venturing out into the hall, hoping to take a walk to calm my buzzing nerves.

As I walk past Erik's room, I see nothing but blackness and I know that he is asleep. Then I hear whispering, and I peer into the room through the crack between the door and its frame. My eyes fall upon Erik sitting at the desk in the room, his elbows on the surface, his head resting upon his hands. Moving a little closer, I can hear his words.

"The Phantom never looses his touch, I suppose. I just wish she didn't have to find out about the others, only about that fool rapist of hers. I bite my lip and take a step closer to hear more when the floorboard creaks, breaking Erik from his reverie. In an instant he is on his feet and at the door before I can even move. "Christine?" He looks at me quizzically, and I stumble across my explanation.

"I was just taking a walk and…and…and I didn't mean to…to spy, but I…" I curse myself silently as he walks away, a forlorn look on his face and in his movements. "I don't hate you!" I bravely call after him. Erik stops in his tracks and turns around to look at me.

"What?" he asks, taking a tentative step towards the door again.

"I…I…I don't hate you," I start, taking deep calming breaths, "for killing them." Erik looks at me sadly for a few moments, then turns and sits back down in the desk chair. Taking a deep breath, I walk over towards him, place the lamp on the desk and walk around behind Erik, placing my hands on his bare shoulders soothingly. "You saved my life, Erik," I say, moving my hands back and forth just slightly on his shoulders. "How can I hate you for that?"

He doesn't speak for a few moments, and then says, "You hated me for it years ago. I gave you everything and you couldn't respect…" I crouch down beside the chair, my right hand still on his left shoulder.

"Erik, I don't want us to fight," I interject, "especially about the past. It's behind us and we have to worry about the present." I take his hand in my own and squeeze gently. "There will be a time and a place to work the past out."

"There was a time and place years ago, Christine," he says forcefully, standing up, "and you chose to hide behind that vicomte of yours so you wouldn't have to face it. And now…" he trails off a little, "if you don't want to talk about something, don't bring it up."

"You brought it up!" I say in retaliation. "Why would I have brought it up if I knew it would return you to the man who nearly ruined my life?" The words don't hit me for a few seconds, and then I clasp my hand over my mouth. "Erik, I…"

"Don't say you're sorry," he replies coldly. "Monsters don't accept apologies." I bow my head silently and adamantly stare at the ground. After a few moments of awkward silence, I pick up the lamp and take leave of the room. _Now you've done it, Christine. Now you've done it._

**Later…**

"We're here," Erik announces as we walk up to a small house in the countryside of Persia, all of us but him stumbling from sore feet and tiredness. Erik has not spoken to me since that night at the inn and I'm beginning to feel abandoned by the one person I thought would never abandon me.

My thoughts are cut short by Erik's knocking on the door and shouting to the residents, "Daroga, you open up the damn door this instant!" Daroga? He couldn't possibly mean…

The door swings open to reveal none other than the man who I met on the road to Sardes, the one who saved me from…well, it doesn't really matter any more. "Erik!" the Daroga shouts, taking Erik's hand and shaking it firmly. "Come inside, please," he says kindly, stepping inside and motioning for us to enter the house. I hesitate for a moment, but a familiar voice convinces me otherwise.

"Father, what's all the noise?" At the end of the hall is none other than Reza, looking much better since I had last seen him, and I cannot contain myself.

"Reza!" I cry like a gleeful child, running into the house towards him.

"Christine!" he replies happily, using my real name as opposed to the name he knew me by. Reza opens his arms to me and I take the invitation, suddenly feeling myself being lifted in the air and twirled around in his arms. After placing me on the ground again, he hugs me tightly and whispers in my ear, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," I reply, kissing his cheek amicably. Realizing suddenly that the other four people in the house are staring at us, I turn around and say, "Lalitha, Lakhi, you know Reza?" The sisters nod, exchanging glances and I have no doubt that they assume that Reza and myself are more than friends, which we are certainly not.

Reza steps by me and extends his hand to Erik. "Good to see you back," he says in a casual but friendly tone.

"Glad to see you looking better," Erik replies, smiling a little. Both his gaze and my own fall upon the Daroga staring at the two girls in the doorway and Erik quickly introduces them, though he thankfully does not explain why they are with us.

"Girls," the Daroga says, "there are some open rooms upstairs; make yourselves at home." The three of us nod to him and hurry up the stairs to seek comfort.

**Erik**

"Erik, you are completely out of your element trying to deal with this," Nadir says evenly. "She's a grown woman now and she's been through a lot. Give her time." He takes a bottle of brandy out of the cabinet along with three glasses and pours some for the two of us and Reza.

"Daroga, she's hiding from everything – we need to find a way to get through to her," I reply a little too harshly as he hands me the glass. I take a swig of the liquor, trying desperately to let it calm my nerves.

"No," Reza says, taking a sip out of his own glass, "_you_ need to get through to her. If things are as you say they are, then you are the only one who can stop it. There's no more to it than that."

"My son's right, Erik," the Daroga responds, "and don't you even think about a rebuttal to that." Taking another sip of brandy, I think back on the words I've thought about so often; _You are her Angel of Music. Only you can bring her back._ I am not one to admit that I am wrong, but Reza's statement is completely in truth.

"But what am I to do?" I question. "The fact is that she's not like she used to be. I can't just…"

"If you even think about trying to seduce her like you say you did last time, Erik, I swear I will kill you," Nadir interrupts. "You've pulled enough of your Phantom tricks to last anyone a lifetime and you don't need to go pulling them on her after all she's been through."

"But she'll never…" I start to retaliate when Reza stops me.

"If you give it time, things will heal on their own," Reza says like a true politician. "Until then, you have to treat her with respect and honor her." I open my mouth to speak, but I am again stopped, this time by Nadir.

"We're not saying to be her slave, Erik. We're just telling you that maybe it's time you treated her like the woman she is and not the little chorus girl you wooed. She's a woman with a past now, Erik, and you have to honor that, too. She's wounded and she's hurting and you can't act as though this whole rape fiasco didn't happen." Reza nods his head to his father in agreement. "She'll never forgive you if you avoid the truth."

"But I love her, Nadir! How am I supposed to beat around that bush?" I confess, a little shocked at myself.

"Give it time," Reza reaffirms his father's previous statement. "Things will fall into place if you just give her breathing room. You don't have to dote on her because you love her or because she's been through some terrible things, you just have to treat her as an equal. She'll be grateful for it, I promise you."

"The boy speaks truth," Nadir says, raising his glass towards Reza. I know that sometimes fathers will say things like that in support of their sons, hoping that they will follow in their own footsteps, but he's truly right. Unfortunately, that night at the inn is going to haunt me and whatever relationship there is between Christine and me. _You're not a monster_. I am not a monster.


	27. Secrets and their Keepers

_**Chapter Twenty-Six – Secrets and their Keepers**_

_Persia 1875_

**Christine**

I scream as I wake up, shuddering and whimpering then covering my mouth, realizing I must've woken the whole of the house. Hamir's face…it's always there, haunting me. I look around and see that Lalitha and Lakhi are still fast asleep, unaware of my dreams, heavy sleepers through my shriek. Hurrying from the bed, I slip a thin robe around my shoulders and walk out of the room, needing freedom.

Finding my way around the dark building, I finally emerge out onto the deck at the back, my feet causing the boards of the floor to creak slightly. I look around and see that one of the wooden chairs is occupied by a dark form I recognize as Reza. He notices my shadow and gestures to me with his hand, not saying a word.

I reach out for Reza's hand and take it in my own, allowing him to lead me over to a chair beside his. Willingly I sit, keeping his hand in mine, needing the security it offers, just the subtle contact. "Reza?" I say, my voice low so as not to wake anyone else in the house.

"Yes, Christine?" he replies, turning to face me. "What is it?" Reza continues, running a hand along my cheek. "You know that you can always talk to me."

Swallowing down my fear, I say, "Erik's angry with me, isn't he?" I look at the floor, tracing patterns with my bare toes. Reza squeezes my hand gently, comfortingly.

"He's not angry with you, Christine," he says after a moment's silence. "I don't think he could ever bring himself to do that." I think back on Erik's first night at the harem, when he'd almost done to me what Hamir did mere days ago. Was it truly something other than anger?

"But Reza, he…" I protest, but Reza presses a finger to my lips.

"Christine, I know that there are demons in the past for the both of you, and it's a much longer road to any type of recovery than any of us can fathom, but I can assure you that the time will come when the two of you can be open about what's going on. For now," he says, reaching a hand out and stroking my cheek, "you just have to give it time. This whole mess will work itself out in the end."

Reza stands to leave, then leans down and presses a friendly kiss on my cheek. "Go to sleep soon, my dear."

I sit there for long after Reza leaves, long enough for the pink shadows of dawn to be gracing the sky, just thinking, wondering if God has a plan for me, if my fate has been decided. "Please God," I pray, "don't let me be alone." Holding back tears, I add, "Raoul, I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. Please, give me something to live for again, anything you can offer. I love you."

The tears come, hot and fast, dripping silently down my cheeks. Maybe it was thinking about Raoul, or maybe it was thinking about love.

**Erik**

"Erik, she's hurt," Reza says once again, snatching the bottle of liquor out of my hands as I pull it from the cabinet. "It's not going to make anything better if you're drunk."

Letting out a frustrated growl, I slam my fists against the wall and bow my head, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth. "And what do you know?" I snarl at Reza. My few days of calm temperament have ceased; just knowing that Christine is around me and not speaking to me brings out my darker side, the part of me that used to show all the time.

"I know enough to know that acting like this isn't going to help you!" he says forcefully, replacing the liquor in the cabinet.

"Like what?" I roar, standing abruptly and staring Reza down. "I can act however I goddamn please! You have no say in how I…" Shuffling footsteps bring my shouting to a halt, and both Reza and I turn to where the sound is coming from. Lalitha walks meekly towards us from the upper floor of the house.

"Reza, Christine was hoping you knew a good physician. She…" My heart rate speeds up and I tense nervously. If she's sick…

"A physician?" I interrupt her, and Reza places a comforting hand on my arm to calm me.

"She hasn't been feeling well and…" Breaking away from Reza, I walk quickly up the stairs and towards the girls' room, not pausing to knock on the door before opening it a little too harshly.

"Christine!" I say anxiously, rushing to the bed she's lying on, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. Lakhi stares at me from across the bed, looking somewhat nervous but not rattled. "Are you all right, _mon ange_?" She nods, her face emotionless. "Tell me."

"I am fine, Erik," she says weakly, lending me a small smile. I bend over her and press my lips gently to her forehead.

"You're not feverish," I point out, caressing the top of her hand with my thumb. "Do you want me to stay with you?" Christine's gaze travels up to the doorway in which Lalitha and Reza stand, her eyes and expressions unreadable.

"I'd like to talk to Reza," she says, "in private." Turning around, I look at Reza, who is staring back at me. "Please, Erik. I won't be long." I stand cautiously, then motion for Lalitha and Lakhi to follow me out of the room as Reza walks in. I turn around to watch him but the door closes abruptly in my face.

**Christine**

As the door closes behind Reza, I pull the covers back from the bed and work my way into a standing position amidst the nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I hurry into Reza's arms and start to sniffle against his chest, and it soon progresses into an all-out cry. "Christine," he murmurs into my hair, "tell me what's wrong."

"I…I…" I stutter, feeling as though something is caught in my throat, blocking speech. How can I tell him? "Reza, I'm…" He pulls away from me and places his hands gently on my cheeks, cupping my face and turning it so I can look right into his eyes.

"Whatever you have to say is safe with me, Christine," Reza says with assurance, wiping a tear off my cheek. "Let it out, Christine."

Swallowing hard, I say nervously, "Reza, I…I think I'm pregnant." He stares at me in disbelief and I bow my head solemnly, casting my gaze at the ground.

"Whose…" he starts, but I look up in his eyes again, wordlessly telling him. "No…does anybody else know?" I shake my head.

"You're the first person I've told, of course. Lalitha and Lakhi would let it slip and…" I falter. "And I can't tell Erik. It would break his heart to know that I'm carrying the child of a man who he…" I come very close to saying "killed" but Reza stops me.

"We have to tell him, Christine. It's not fair otherwise," Reza says, pulling me against him again, trying desperately to calm me. "I will if you cannot."

"Not now, Reza, and I have to tell him myself, if I do at all," I confess. "And besides, it may just be sickness and nothing more. But it all adds up." I clutch to the fabric of his shirt, crying again. How could I have been so naïve to think this wouldn't happen?

"What adds up?" Reza asks unknowingly.

"I'm three days late," I stutter. "I've never been late before, ever since I first had my cycle. This would certainly be a much too coincidental time for consistency to turn on me." Reza holds me against his body, cradling my small form with his larger one. "I just don't know what to do!"

"Christine, Erik will understand. It wasn't your fault, Christine. It was mine. I…" I'm certain he meant to continue on to say that he should've brought me home with him when he was injured, saved me from the harem then, but we both fall silent as a loud and deep scream erupts from the hallway: Erik.

**Erik**

Lalitha and Lakhi walk away down the hallway towards another of the rooms but I linger behind, listening through the doorway; if ever I was a master at anything, it was eavesdropping. The first thing I can discern from inside is Christine's weeping, followed by, "Whatever you have to say is safe with me, Christine," from Reza. "Let it out, Christine."

Leaning in closer, I listen to their soft words from inside the room. There is more whimpering from Christine before she stutters, "Reza I…I think I'm pregnant." I stand back from the doorway as if I'd been burned, and the silence in the room is nearly deafening.

"Whose…" Christine doesn't seem to answer. "No…does anybody else know?" Reza asks her, sounding genuinely nervous. Nervous? Why would Reza be afraid? Unless…

"You're the first person I've told, of course. Lalitha and Lakhi would let it slip and…" her voice trails off. There is no other explanation as to why she would tell Reza; I would certainly understand. The only reasonable conclusion as to her choice to tell him would be improbable, impossible… "And I can't tell Erik. It would break his heart to know that I'm carrying the child of a man who he…"

Hearing my name intrigues me even more. "We have to tell him, Christine. It's not fair otherwise. I will if you cannot," Reza says comfortingly.

"Not now, Reza, and I have to tell him myself, if I do at all," Christine says abruptly. "And besides, it may just be sickness and nothing more. But it all adds up."

"What adds up?" I hear Reza question her, his voice coated in concern.

"I'm three days late. I've never been late before, ever since I first had my cycle. This would certainly be a much too coincidental time for consistency to turn on me," she confesses of her monthly cycle. There is more silence before Christine whimpers, "I just don't know what to do!"

More shushing from Reza ensues before he says, "Christine, Erik will understand. It wasn't your fault, Christine. It was mine. I…" God damn them.


	28. The Eye of the Beholder

**Before you read, I'd like to make a little announcement to you all…**

**This morning, I logged onto FFN and checked Stats, as I always do…last week I was on the Author Favorites and Author Alerts list of 8 people…now I am on 18 favorites and 19 alerts. I was extremely flattered by this, but I was so excited when I saw that this story, _Dried-Up Roses_, had surpassed 10,000 hits and had received 191 reviews, is on 46 favorites lists, 68 alerts lists and is in 2 C2's.**

**I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has helped make this story so much fun for me to write. It's not over yet (don't worry), but it is drawing to a close and I think I have an ending worked out, though I don't know how many more chapters there are until its conclusion (maybe 3 or 4…maybe less, maybe more). **

**Again, thank you so much for all of your support, criticism, compliments, helpfulness, suggestions, love, hate, frustration, relief…the list goes on. I love you all so much and I will be very sad to see this story end. I do hope that you will all go on to read whatever comes next for me, mostly because I love receiving your reviews and comments.**

**Thanks again, and with much love,**

_**N.S.L. Jewelles**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Eye of the Beholder**_

_Persia 1875_

**Erik**

"It was mine. I…" Letting out an inhuman roar, I cover my head and fall down to my knees. The door opens with a slam and I see Christine and Reza in the doorway. She runs to me and puts a tender hand on my shoulder, but I shove her back and Reza's arms cradle her fall.

"To think I trusted you!" I shout at them, not knowing who it is more directed to. "I trusted you both!"

"Erik, what are you…" Christine starts, but then looks up at Reza from her position in his arms and scrambles to stand up. "You don't think…oh God." Her face goes ghostly pale and her eyes widen.

"Surprised I caught on, are you?" I say accusatorily, straightening up and walking purposefully towards Christine, who grab's Reza's arm in some mixture of fright and worry. "It wasn't so hard to figure it out, really." I pause momentarily, then add, "I do hope that you two and your little curse are happy together," before moving to walk down the hallway.

**Christine**

As I watch Erik turn to walk away I look up at Reza, scared. "Go," he encourages, placing a hand in the small of my back and directing me. Not looking back, I hurry after Erik, hobbling a little from the nausea.

"Erik!" I call after him, running to catch up as he walks from the house into the Persian noon. "Erik, wait!" He stops a few yards from the doorway, turning back to look at me. "It's not Reza's child, Erik," I say, out of breath even though I didn't run that much.

"Is that so?" he muses sarcastically, walking back towards me and stops to look down at me, staring me straight in the eyes. "Then whose is it? Nadir's? That would be something." His voice is full of bitterness, and it sends shivers up and down my spine.

I take a deep breath and ask him, "Who else's could it be, do you think?" matching his sarcasm with my own. Staring into his gray-green eyes with my own brown ones, I feel as though I'm trying to telepathically tell him the truth.

Suddenly, I see realization wash over his visible features, and his eye surrounded by the white mask goes wide with the other. For a few long moments we just stare at each other, his look boring into me. "We'll…take care of it then," he says solemnly, walking past me into the house.

"Take care of it! Erik, what do you…" I answer, racing after him.

"It's not fair to you or the child to let this go on, Christine! I wouldn't want you to have to deal with seeing his face every day!" My mouth hangs open slightly in disbelief.

"Who cares about what you want for me?" I shout back, angry. "It's my child and I will choose what to do!" Erik's eyes flare and he grabs my arms and lifts me up so I am face to face with him.

"So you'd be willing to wake up to your rapist's face every day 'til you die instead of get rid of a babe before it's even a human?" he snarls, his features taught and full of malice. "You want to have a child that is his and live knowing that you didn't want it in the first place? Well?" The silence is overwhelming, and I find myself holding back tears, trying to act maturely. I bite my lip and Erik says, "Afraid to cry but unafraid to live with your rapist's child." He places me harshly on the ground and storms away up the stairs.

"I'll do it!" I shout to his back, stuttering a little, and he turns around. "I'll do it."

**Later…**

I lie on the small mattress, shaking all over while Erik and Reza talk to the physician in hushed tones. Lalitha and Lakhi are away in another room, both of them frightened from the whole idea of it. Erik breaks away from his conversation, leaving Reza and the physician, and comes over to my side, taking my hand. "You're all right?" I nod, though even I myself don't believe it. "Please, Christine, you need to tell me that you're going to be okay."

"I am," I reply nervously, smiling slightly. Overcome, I throw my arms around Erik's neck, surprising him, I'm sure. "I'm so scared, Erik," I confess, whimpering into his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, merely strokes my back and hair, letting me cry.

"Sir, I really must get on with it," the physician says, and I pull away from Erik, staring up at the doctor with fear in my eyes. "Oh, don't worry at all, milady. You will just need to drink something for me and then I'll be here to clean you up afterwards." I stare up at Erik, afraid again. "There will be pain, I'm afraid, but it will be over quickly, I promise."

Erik stands abruptly and says forcefully, "If you hurt her, I swear I'll…" Reza puts a calming hand on his arm, partially trying to restrain him. He turns back to me. "Do you want us to stay, _mon ange_?" Unable to speak, I nod in agreement and Erik resumes his position by my side, holding my hand comfortingly. The physician draws a little vial out of his coat and hands it to Reza, who comes to my other side and hands it to me.

"Drink this, Christine." Just wanting it to be over, I quickly down the liquid and nearly choke on its horrible taste. Reza brushes some hair out of my eyes and hands the vial back to the physician. "So now we wait?" he asks him.

"Now we wait," the physician agrees, and I try not to cry, realizing what I've just done. _It is not your child, Christine. It's Hamir's child._ I gasp as a sudden pain takes me, starting at the base of my spine, tingling all over. Tightening my grip on Erik's hand I fear that I'll cut off circulation. I feel Reza lift me up a little bit and register the physician placing some cloths beneath me from my hips to my knees.

Letting out a little whimper, I wriggle on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. My eyes closed tight, I hear Erik whispering to me in French, murmuring soft words that I can't really make sense of, but they are soothing all the same.

All at once, I let out a loud cry of pain and I feel very, very wet between my legs. Reza produces a wet cloth from somewhere and rests it gently on my forehead, and  
Erik continues his whispered musings. Somehow, through it all, everything is calm and peaceful, and now all I can hope for is the pain to subside.

Opening my eyes slightly, I see Erik on one side of me and Reza on the other, and I come to a realization; I am so lucky to have these men in my life. Everything I've gone through up until this moment has made me all the more fortunate to have Erik and Reza, not to mention Nadir, and of course Lalitha and Lakhi. It's at moments like these that I wish I still had Meg and Antoinette and Gaston with me, but there are some things that just aren't possible. Nevertheless, I am so lucky.


	29. In Time Gone By

**To my faithful readers – **

**I understand that the events in the last chapter offended some of you. However, I do not want to turn this story into a Pro-Life/Pro-Choice debate. I am saying this; I was not trying to offend or show bias by having Christine go through with an abortion. Quite frankly, it was part of the story and it was in 1875 in Persia…nobody was worried about a government's stand on abortion to the extent that they are now.**

**If you are no longer interested in reading, I fully understand. Just know that I did not mean for the chapter to go over as it did.**

**Thanks, and enjoy the chapter,**

_**N.S.L. Jewelles**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight –In Time Gone By**_

_Persia 1875_

**Christine**

Days pass, then weeks, and still we remain in Persia. Erik has insisted that we don't want to risk getting caught by anybody working for the Shah, so we should wait for the events at the palace to become more a "thing of the past" before setting out for Paris. He's finally convinced me to go back, with much help from Reza, Nadir, Lalitha and Lakhi of course. I don't belong here, as much as I love my newfound family. I was never meant for this life, as I now see.

It is a warm afternoon in early summer and I sit reading one of Nadir's books on the deck when I hear a loud knocking on the door at the front of the house. I hurry to the sound and open the door. "Excuse me, Miss, I have a delivery for Erik Garnier?"

I open my mouth to speak when Erik's voice comes from behind me and his hands appear on my shoulders. "That's me, sir." The man's eyes flick up to Erik's mask momentarily, and he probably realizes that it's rude to stare.

"We've got a delivery for you, sir. Where would you like us to bring it?" Erik looks out the door and his gaze falls on a large box on a wheeled cart.

"Around the back will be just fine, thanks," Erik replies, steering me away from the door and closing it.

He moves to go to the back of the house when I grab his arm. "What's this delivery?"

A smile winds its way across his face and he replies proudly, "It's your birthday gift." With that, he walks away towards the back door and I hurry to follow. As I walk out onto the deck, I see the men lifting a large box onto the deck with directions from Erik. Finally, they let it down in a corner and Erik hands them their payment, sending them off.

I watch as Erik goes over to the large box and opens it, lifting off the outer wrappings and revealing a small piano. Erik turns around to find a bench and sees me standing in the doorway, awestruck. "Well?" he says, making his way towards me. I don't reply right away and Erik comes to stand right in front of me, looking down into my face.

Throwing my arms around his chest I reply, "It's wonderful." It hadn't truly occurred to me that this was the week of my twenty-first birthday, as I had lost such track of time. To think that one year ago I was dancing at a huge celebration at Chagny, ball-gown, corset and all, with Raoul on my arm, and now I am standing in the embrace of a man I had sworn never to even think of again, thanking him for gifting me with such a wonderful token of his friendship.

"There is a catch," he says slyly, breaking away from me, and I cock my head to the side in question. Erik picks up a little bench from the deck, places it in front of the piano and says, as he takes a seat, "You must sing for me."

"But I…" I protest, but Erik's fingers are already working their magic on the piano keys, sending vibrations throughout the air that seem to come to rest in my very soul.

"No buts," he says calmly. "Now, _Va, Pensiero_, from _Nabucco_, if you will," Erik continues, playing the flowing introduction to the song.

"I haven't heard it in so long, and it's for a…" I would have said "chorus," but suddenly Erik starts off the piece in his deep, melodic voice.

"Now you," Erik says, sounding gentle but strict all at once. Swallowing, clearing my throat, I begin the song. As the words flow from my mouth, it feels so natural even though I have not sung much, save for once, in the last however many years. Erik's piano playing soothes me, and I close my eyes as I sing.

As the piece comes to an end and Erik's playing ceases, I realize just how silent the world around me is. After a few long moments, applause breaks out from behind me, and I turn around to see Reza, Nadir, Lalitha and Lakhi back from the market, all standing in the doorway. I feel a deep blush rising to my cheeks as I watch them applauding me.

A shiver runs down my spine as Erik's hands come onto my shoulders and he says quietly to me, "A little rusty, but still beautiful," and my blush deepens.

**Erik**

The evening is warm as we sit out on the deck of the Daroga's home, basking in the beauty of the night. Nadir has his eyes closed, resting peacefully, while Reza has his arm around Lalitha, and Christine is talking quietly with Lakhi. I get up from my chair and walk over to the piano, sitting down and starting to play a gentle waltz, a calming but beautiful piece.

After a few moments, Christine stands and takes Reza's hand. "Dance with me?" she says, and I hold back my longing to rip them apart from one another.

"Christine, you're asking me to…waltz?" Reza asks incredulously.

"I'll teach you," Christine replies, pulling him from his seat as Nadir, Lalitha and Lakhi look on. As she directs him in how to waltz, I try and ignore the jealousy creeping up through me. I know that I shouldn't feel this when I know that nothing will happen between Christine and Reza, but it unnerves me all the same.

I feel Nadir's familiar hand on my shoulder. "I'll play, Erik. Dance with her." I consider protesting, but Nadir puts a firm hand on my shoulder and pushes me off of the bench, taking a seat and beginning to play a more exotic, but still ballroom-sounding, dance piece.

Reza is facing towards me, still dancing with Christine, and he nods his head a little to me, almost reading my thoughts. He spins Christine around and lets go of her hand as I catch her in my own. She seems a little flustered at the sudden change of partner, but moves with grace as if there was no interruption.

Now, I do not think of myself as an expert dancer, but I use what little I know mixed with Christine's education in the subject to an advantage and I do not embarrass myself too much. The feel of her waist beneath my hand makes my blood pulse faster and I am very aware of how close she is. I spin her around then pull her back in to dance, but by placing my hand on her waist as she returns to me inadvertently pushes her even closer to my own body.

The music comes to a beautiful ending and I look down at Christine, her cheeks flushed a pale rose from dancing, her chest rising and falling softly. She smiles softly and I pray that she cannot see the tiny tear that falls from my eye down the mangled flesh behind my mask.

**Christine**

I sit alone on the deck after everyone else has gone to bed, looking out at the night sky and knowing that somewhere beyond the horizon is Paris, bustling with nightlife, people going on with their daily routine of drinking, gambling, and making love. And here I am, away from everything I've known, and yet I am happier than I could be amongst them.

There is movement near the doorway and I avert my eyes from the heavens to see Erik walking towards me with two cups in his hands. He takes a seat beside me on the bench and hands me one of them. "You need sleep, _mon amour_. This will help you rest." He places his hand beneath mine and pushes on it, trying to move the cup closer to my mouth.

Looking into the liquid, I ask jokingly, "There aren't any drugs in it, are there?"

Erik chuckles a little and replies, "Drink," sounding a little annoyed. I do as he says and take a sip of the hot tea, letting its soothing warmth seep into me. Taking a quick glance to my side, I see Erik drinking his own tea, watching the sky. The sensitivity he's shown me in the last month, at least, have been more than I could ever have expected of him. It endears him to me more than anything in the past has, and I am grateful for it.

After placing my cup on the chair next to me, I take a silent but deep breath and tuck myself under Erik's arm, placing my own arms around his body and resting my head on his chest. He seems a little surprised at first, but then adjusts his arm around me for comfort and plays with the ends of my hair. "Is something bothering you, Christine?" he asks concernedly.

"No," I reply softly, shifting my head a little, feeling his heartbeat beneath my cheek. "I was just thinking, that's all." We fall into a somewhat awkward silence, only the sounds of our breathing and of Erik drinking his tea coloring the air. I curl up close to him, basking in the feeling of protection and security, knowing that the man beside me truly cares about my wellbeing and happiness. "Erik?" I ask.

"Yes, _mon ange_?"

"Do you ever think about the opera?" I imply cautiously, knowing how sensitive the subject is and fully aware of how wrong this conversation can go.

"I try to forget it," he replies curtly. "Why do you ask?" Erik continues, setting his cup down on the arm of the bench.

"It's just…" I start, then breathe in very slowly and start again. "It's just that I've been thinking about it so much lately and I know that what I'm doing is wrong because of what I promised the Holy Father! I haven't been very religious and I know I shouldn't care anymore, but it hurts, Erik," I confess, pressing myself against him, curling into an almost fetal position.

"I can't say I can identify with you," he replies truthfully. "I am not religious and never have been and…" he trails off, falling into a short span of silence. "Christine, I don't know that now's the best time to talk about this. Another time we'll sit down and talk," Erik says soothingly, standing up from the bench, walking towards the door.

Something deep inside me seems to break, and I feel like I am trembling all over, that whatever has just happened has taken something away from me and without it I am not whole. "Erik!" I call after him as I stand up from the bench, walking towards him. As he turns around to face me, I say softly, "I can't wait."

Cautiously, but with speed, I reach my hands up, one on his mask and the other on his unscarred cheek and pull his head down to mine until there isn't a breath between us. Then, unsure of what I am getting myself into, I move closer and press my lips to Erik's in a soft but passionate kiss.


	30. So Close and Yet so Far

**To my amazing readers – **

**I regret to inform you that this story is nearly finished. That is, this is the second-to-last installment (I believe). Writing this story has been a pleasure for me and I will be so sad to see it go. I thank you tremendously and…oh, hell with it. I'll say my goodbyes next chapter.  -NSLJ**

**Warning – sexual situations (non-explicit)**

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine – So Close and Yet so Far**_

_Persia 1875_

Erik's lips are worn but soft as I touch them with my own, and the kiss sends a fire through my veins, and the feeling I'd had when I first pleasured Hamir returns, the lightheadedness, the wetness…

I am distracted from my thoughts as Erik pulls away slightly, breaking the intimate contact of our lips. His breath tickles the sensitive skin of my face, warm and fast. I realize that my hands are still on his face and mask, and I move to take them away when Erik places his own over mine. Without a word, he runs his hands down from mine, across my arms and mimics my position, his weathered palms cradling my small face.

My breath hitches in my throat as Erik presses his lips against my own, not hiding his ardor. I move my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, trying to gain further contact that my desire wills me to take. Shivers run through my body as I feel Erik's hands on my waist, my feet leaving the ground to cover the difference between our heights.

Sighing slightly, I open my mouth almost subconsciously, and soon Erik's tongue and my own are entwined in their own dance of passion. However, the combined force of our fevered kissing and my weight, though not much, leads Erik to try and place me on the floor again.

Not wanting to be let down, I lose all sense of dignity by wrapping my legs around Erik's waist to keep me away from the floor, my skirt hiking up around my hips. I slide a bit from the downward momentum and feel the growing hardness of Erik's manhood beneath my thigh. He groans into my mouth and holds me closer, pressing my small frame against his much larger one.

Tangled together, locked by legs, arms, and lips, Erik and I stumble into the house and Erik somehow finds his way into his room on the ground floor, still holding me around him like a blanket. Erik disengages one arm from around my body and closes the door near-silently, then walks briskly over to his low-lying bed, laying me upon it then lowering himself down beside me.

I reach a hand out and touch his masked cheek, running my fingers along the white porcelain. "Take it off," I say, trying to sound calm but my voice dark with passion. I watch Erik's facial expressions as he ponders my request. Then, he lifts my fingers to the edge of his shield, his source of protection, and nods. Gently I pry it away from his face and toss it on the floor.

Immediately he moves, of instinct, to cover his face, but I lean forward and push his hands out of the way, pressing my lips to the distorted flesh. I run my fingers through his hair, noticing that he still wears a hairpiece, but ignoring it completely. As I kiss his face, Erik rolls himself over, pinning me to the mattress, ever the one to dominate. "Christine," he says, his voice husky, and I discontinue my ministrations. "Christine, why are you letting me do this?"

"Letting you do what?" I reply, knowing perfectly well what.

"Christine, I can't do to you what that…that beast did to you. I'll never let myself be compared to him." Moving myself slightly, I crane my neck upward and kiss him, gently at first and then growing in intensity, but Erik pulls away. "What are you doing, Christine? I can't…"

"Hush," I say, running my hands along his cheeks and down his shoulders and arms. "I know what I am doing, Erik, and you will never be like him." I kiss him again, pressing my tongue against his lips, begging entrance which he grants willingly. Soon, he pulls away again, this time to tug his shirt from his trousers and pull the soft white fabric over his head, then toss it on the floor.

Erik props himself up above me once again, kissing my lips and holding me tightly, slowly untying the laces on the back of my dress. I feel the hateful garment come loose and it is only seconds before it joins Erik's shirt on the floor. A feverish web of arms and legs and bodies, Erik lets me roll on top of him, straddling his hips, feeling him beneath me once again.

Tentatively, I run my hands from his face down his neck to the broad expanse of chest, sweating slightly and spattered with little bits of dark hair, across his torso and navel to the waist of his pants. Swallowing hard, forcing the image of Hamir out of my mind, I shift myself lower on his legs and unlace the thin leather ties holding Erik's trousers closed at the top.

When the last lace comes undone, I move the fabric down over his hips and thighs and he kicks them off with his own bare feet. Feeling a wave of uneasiness wash over me at the thought of doing what I had done to Hamir, I move up to kiss Erik again when he pulls my body beneath his, now fully bare of clothing.

"This is a little unfair," he says seductively, nipping at my earlobe then trailing hot kisses along my neck and shoulder, moving aside the strap of my camisole. "You seem to have on quite a lot of clothing and I have none." I jump a little as Erik's hands reach the bottom of my camisole and tear it cleanly in two, and I wriggle out of the remains of the undergarment.

It hits me that my upper half is unclothed, bare to Erik's roaming gaze, and I shift my arms, trying to cover myself. Erik runs a gentle hand across my cheek. "No hiding, _mon amour_." Erik bends forward and kisses me gently, and I feel the mangled side of his face rubbing against mine, but I ignore it. Erik slowly moves his hands down the sides of my body, reaching the waistband of my undergarments and hesitating. When I do not resist, he slowly pulls them down and off my long dancer's legs.

I can't help but cry, anxiety and fear hitting me for the first time, and Erik takes notice, gathering me in his arms and seating me on his lap as best he can. "Hush, _mon ange_, please don't cry," Erik murmurs, stroking my hair. "We do not have to do this if you don't…"

"Just get it over with, Erik," I whimper, burying my face in his shoulder. "Have me and be done with it."

"No!" he replies, moving me away a little so he can look into my eyes. "Christine, it's not supposed to be like that. Nothing should ever be that way, Christine. This is a decision we will make together," Erik continues, pulling me to him again. "I understand that this is traumatic for you, and I am not going to make you go through with anything you don't want to."

I throw my arms around him, holding myself to him, and cry softly, "Thank you, Erik." We sit there like that for a long time, just enjoying the closeness, holding one another.

"Christine," Erik says after quite some time, "this isn't much later, of course, but, if you are willing, I am ready to discuss with you why…" I place a finger over his lips to silence him. I lovingly run my hands down both his cheeks and around his neck, pulling him to me and kissing him passionately.

"Erik, I could not wait to tell you that…" I pause briefly, gathering my strength but knowing that I won't be able to say it. Swallowing hard, I choke out, "I love you." I see the surprise in his eyes as I speak and he opens his mouth to respond but I stop him. "I never meant to let you out of my life, Erik, but I had to go to the priest that day because I loved you and I couldn't ruin my marriage. Erik, you didn't have to come after me and you didn't have to treat me well and you didn't have to…" He silences me with a quick but tender kiss.

"Yes, Christine, I had to."

**Later…**

For the rest of the night, we simply lie close to one another, touching ever so gently, feeling the pace of each other's breathing, the fingers of our right hands entwined. I, however, cannot sleep. My head rests on Erik's chest and his head is right against my own as he sleeps, the disfigured side of his face rubbing against mine when he shifts position.

I wriggle around, trying to get comfortable, but no position seems to offer me sleep. After trying multiple times to fall asleep, my efforts rouse Erik from his deep slumber. "Can you not sleep, _mon amour_?" he asks me, running a hand through my hair. "What troubles you?"

"I'm not sure exactly," I reply truthfully, curling up closer to Erik, needing the sensation of his body against mine. "I suppose I'm just afraid of what will happen after tonight, and that everything will change once we decide to go back to Paris."

"Who said we had to go straight back?" he answers me, caressing my shoulders and arms.

"You mean…" I say, flipping over and looking down at Erik.

"We could see the world, travel all over," Erik suggests, running his hands soothingly down my back. "There is nothing to stop us."

"I've always wanted to see Rome…" I trail off, but Erik counters me quickly.

"Then we will go to Rome." Kissing him gently, I lie back down and Erik takes me in his arms, whispering to me. "We can go to all of Europe, Christine, ride in Tuscany, dance in Madrid, see shows in London. The future is ours, Christine; you will only live once." As he speaks, I think back on his words from years ago. _Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before..._

"Sing to me," I say determinedly. "Sing me the song from the night of _Hannibal_." I close my eyes as Erik clears his throat and begins to sing. The beautiful rich baritone of his voice soothes me and calms me, and it takes me a few moments to realize that his hands have started their slow, torturous journey around me, touching every part of me, marking me in a way that sexual contact could not; it marks me with love, not lust.

His singing finally ceases, and he runs a finger along my jaw, making me turn my head, and he captures my mouth with his in a sensual and electrifying kiss. When we break apart, I ask him softly, "Do you think we'll be like this forever?

"Like what?" Erik replies, kissing me again.

"Happy," I suggest, followed by a quick brush of lips. "Content," another kiss. "In love?" As I crane my neck to kiss Erik again, he pulls away and I look at him with confusion.

"We will certainly be in love for always, Christine, and so long as we are in love, everything else will fall into place." He concludes his romantic statement with the most deep and moving kiss of all, and I find myself agreeing; love cannot solve everything, but it can make most worth one's while.

**Erik**

_Dear Antoinette,_

_I must sincerely apologize for not contacting you these last few months. It was most rude of me and I did not mean to worry you with my negligence._

_Christine is safe and sound, and she is sleeping contentedly as I write. There is much about what has gone on here in Persia that is better saved for a later date, but she is without harm, for the most part, and is in no further danger. I intend to ask her for her hand in due time, and it is my understanding that she has talked of saying yes._

_I regret to inform you that we will not be returning to Paris immediately. We have jointly decided to travel while we are both willing and able, and will be leaving Persia within two weeks. Where to? I do not know, but it will be an adventure nonetheless._

_In due time we will come back to France, I am sure, and when we do I will send you advance warning. All I can ask is that you keep this letter to yourself; the time will come to alert Meg and Gaston of goings-on. As it stands, I have not informed Christine of my writing to you, and I wish to keep it that way. Things could only be complicated by others knowing._

_And so, I must say farewell for now. We will see each other again._

_-Erik Garnier_


	31. Epilogue Worth Living For

_**Epilogue – Worth Living For**_

_Paris 1883_

**Erik**

The fog outside the carriage seems to consume us as we travel through Paris to the Luxembourg Estate. Though the day is dreary, I can only think of good things, of how everything will be settled by the end of the day. Christine's head rests on my shoulder, my arm cradling her body, her hand on my leg, covered with my own. I look at the seat across from mine and see little Gustav staring out the window onto the foggy streets. "What's so interesting?" I ask him, though I've come to find that small children find interest in the most trivial things.

"It's different," the little boy answers, peering up at me through his large and glassy gray-green eyes. "This isn't like the other places."

"No, it's not," I reply, running my fingers through the loose tendrils of Christine's hair. "But you will like it here." Gustav returns to his entranced state, looking out of the misted window and into the world beyond the carriage. He presses a small hand to the glass and removes it, leaving a clear imprint in the condensation.

As we roll to a stop, I rise immediately, gently resting Christine on the seat, and open the carriage door, placing my fedora on my head at the perfect angle and stepping out onto the cobblestones. "Wake your mother, Gustav," I remind the young boy as I walk away from the carriage and up the steps to the door.

I knock on the door and wait patiently for an answer. A maid finally opens the large oak door and says in a very cultured voice, "May I help you, monsieur?"

"Is your mistress at home?" I ask her, and the maid nods. "Please tell her that Erik is here; she will know what you mean." The maid closes the door gently and hurries off inside. I glance back at the carriage and see Gustav trying to wake Christine from her deep sleep.

"Erik!" Meg's shrill cry pulls me from my reverie as I feel her embrace me like a brother, completely out of propriety, but she was never one for that. When she lets go, I remove my hat and bow to her like a gentleman.

"Good afternoon, Madame," I say to her and she chuckles.

"Oh, Erik, it's wonderful to see you!" She pauses, then looks at the open carriage. "Where is Christine?"

"She'll be along," I reply, just as Gustav jumps out of the carriage and looks around. I beckon to him with my hand and he runs over to me, his short, deep brown curls, so like his mother's, bouncing as he moves, his eyes dancing. He drives head-on into my legs, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face in the fabric of my trousers. "Gustav, say hello to your Aunt Meg."

Meg looks at me questioningly, but then crouches down and meets Gustav's green-eyed gaze. "_Bonjour_, Gustav," she says to him.

"Gustav, where are your manners?" I ask him when he doesn't respond.

"_Bonjour_," he replies quietly, reciting the French Christine has taught him with ease.

"How old are you, Gustav?" Meg asks, trying to gain his attentions. The boy does not respond verbally, and merely puts his hand out showing all five fingers. "Five years old? Such a big boy!" I feel Gustav giggling against my leg and I look down to see that Meg is tickling him in the stomach. Quickly he loses his shyness and jumps into her arms in a miniature bear hug, Meg grinning from ear to ear.

Meg's line of vision shifts and I follow it, seeing Christine step from the carriage, adjusting her skirts. Immediately Gustav runs to her, allowing me time to talk with Meg. "He's a beautiful boy, Erik," she says kindly, placing a friendly hand on my arm as Christine plucks Gustav up off the ground and rests him on her hip, walking towards us while talking to him.

As she draws nearer, she places him on the ground and looks to us, seeing me and then Meg. I do not know who runs faster as the two women hurry to embrace one another. There are tears, laughter, and joy just pouring from them as I watch, Gustav taking my large hand in his small one.

When Meg and Christine finally calm down, Meg takes Gustav's hand and says, "Come inside, _mon petit garçon._ Johannes and Gabrielle will be so delighted to meet you," referring to her own children. As she leads Gustav inside, I feel Christine grab hold of my hand, leaning against me slightly.

"Are you glad to be home, _mon amour_?" I ask her, kissing her forehead.

"It will take some readjustment," she states, "but everything will turn out just fine." She puts her arms around my chest, resting her head close to my heart, and I hold her in the embrace, caressing her arms and back. Looking out past her, I see the attendants taking our luggage from the carriage and bringing them into the mansion, carrying each piece inside with care and speed. "Erik?"

Christine pulls away from me and looks up into my eyes. "Yes, Christine?"

"Thank you," she says gently, returning to my arms and relaxing against me. She needn't say what for, because I know. Everything has come full-circle; we are right back where we started. But this is not the end; this is a new beginning.

**Christine**

"Holy Father?"

"Yes, Madame…"

"…Garnier. Madame Christine Garnier."

"Ah, yes. What is it that you seek confession for, Madame?"

"Holy Father, I came to you near a decade ago begging forgiveness for thinking of another man though I was married."

"Yes, Madame, continue."

"I was afraid that thinking of this man would cause distress in my marriage. I loved my husband and I couldn't ruin the beauty of our union because of childish fantasy."

"I understand, Madame. Please go on."

"My husband passed away in the early winter of eighteen seventy-four, and I was being forced into a second marriage of which I wanted no part. I ran out on my wedding, Holy Father, and left for the East."

"May I inquire as to what went on?"

"I…"

"Milady, this is for your own religious purification and it would do you well to answer, and answer truthfully."

"In Persia I was drawn into the world of the harem, and I regrettably performed sinful acts on men. I myself remained pure in body, but not in mind or action."

"Thank you, milady. Is there anything else?"

"The man I had thought of during my marriage found me there, having known me in previous years. Much confusion went on, of course, but eventually…"

"Did you treat him as you would a stranger, or as an acquaintance?"

"I…"

"Milady, please respond."

"Holy Father, has there ever been a reason to not follow religious duty?"

"Why, Madame, do you ask?"

"Because, Holy Father, I have found something worth sinning over."

_La Fin_

**Well, my darlings, that, I do believe, is the end. Thank you so much for following me on this journey, from Paris to Persia and back again. Your support, encouragement, love, tears, and so much else have made this story worthwhile for me to write. It has given me such joy to see your responses, your conflicts, your rants, and all of the other things you've done in your reviews. I will miss you all dearly, but I hope that you will all join me on my next writing endeavor, whatever that is.**

**With love, forever and always,**

_**N.S.L. Jewelles**_

_"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." -James Baldwin_

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	32. Author's Note

To my dearest, darlingest fans of _Dried-Up Roses_ who still have me on their alert lists…

After much thought and consideration I have decided to write the companion novel to _Dried-Up Roses_, entitled _Global Desire_, the details of Erik and Christine's travels from Persia to Paris. It has taken shape well and I am working away on Chapter Three…the first chapters are already up.

So hop on over to the story and get reading!

I remain,

NSL Jewelles

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